Wedlocked
by H.J. Bender
Summary: Johnny wakes up after a long "coma" to find out he's married to the Prince of Hell...and also a soon-to-be father. Slash, mpreg, cracktastic. DISCONTINUED.
1. Crappily Ever After

_Marriage is a three-ring circus: the engagement ring, the wedding ring, and the suffering._

**Chapter 1: Crappily Ever After**_  
_

"And do _you_, Blackheart?"

The demon prince of Hell, decked from head to heel in black silk and velveteen, wearing a crown of ebony studded with infernal jewels, smiled sneeringly and tightened his grip on Johnny Blaze's arm. "I do," he murmured darkly.

The satanic priest, clad in hellfire-red vestments with a large inverted cross swinging from his scaly neck, slapped shut the Hell Bible with a puff of sulfurous smoke. He grinned at the young couple warmly through his fangs. "Then I now pronounce you demon and devil. You may kiss th-"

But Blackheart had already thrown himself into Blaze's arms and was kissing him with all the ravenous passion of teenage nymphomaniac. Both sides of Saint Judas Cathedral erupted into cheers and applause, bringing Johnny Blaze back to his senses. He let out a startled cry and jerked back, gasping for breath. "Wh-what! What's happening! Where am I?"

The organist launched into Bach's _Toccata & Fugue in D min_, and hats flew into the air as the congregation went wild. It was Dante's _Inferno_ meets Princess Di's wedding.

Johnny broke his horrified stare from the sanctuary and looked down at himself. He was dressed like a villain straight out of a Bram Stoker novel, complete with a black cloak and satin vest embroidered with spider webs and pentacles. He looked up at Blackheart, who gave him a coy smile and purred, "Hello . . ._ husband_."

Blaze opened his mouth to scream, but his brain had stopped functioning. Along with the rest of his body. He passed the fuck out, right then and there, in the middle of his own wedding. Nobody seemed to notice his body thumping down the altar steps — it was Blackheart's day, after all. The Prince of Hell pulled the black rose from his lapel and tossed it into the crowd, who began gouging out eyes and tearing flesh to get it.

In the first pew, Mephistopheles stood up and put on a sad, fatherly smile. "They grow up so fast," he said wistfully. "It seems like just yesterday he was a little imp who could barely choke a puppy. And now he's a full-grown hellion-" The Devil choked, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and blew his nose. "This is the happiest day of my life. Hold me, Beelzebub."

The Archdemon Beelzebub sighed and put his arm around his lord, letting him dampen the front of his suit with bloodtears of joy.

Two large demons approached the altar and dragged Blaze up, bearing the unconscious human from the cathedral as Blackheart gallantly led the way.

† † †

Johnny woke with a pounding headache and found himself lying in a large, comfy bed. He sat up and saw that he was in a stone-walled bedroom decorated in the gothic style, with tapestries and Rembrandts on the wall, black curtains and bed covers, candelabras and chandeliers . . . and a Nintendo Wii in the corner. And a Rob Zombie poster beside the shelf filled with Marvel comics and freshman biology text books.

Blaze threw himself off the bed and went to the open window for some air, but he couldn't suck in a breath because he began to hyperventilate at the sight that greeted him: a lovely sky of churning black clouds over a fiery red atmosphere; a range of erupting stratovolcanoes in the distance; to the east a broad desert tortured by whirlwinds and lightning; to the west a black ocean sending whitecaps crashing against the coast; before him a wide stretch of obsidian skyscrapers and medieval towers in a very Earth-like imitation of Brooklyn. They even had trees, and some of them _weren't_ on fire.

"Oh, my God," Johnny uttered, drawing back. "I've died and gone to Hell."

"Well, you're half right."

Blaze whipped around. Blackheart was standing across the room, stripped down to his shirt and trousers from the ceremony. He was undoing his cuffs as he strode toward the man, who raised his hand warningly and was slightly shocked at the sight of a gold ring on his finger — where the hell had _that _come from? "Alright, I don't know how you did it, but I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't put me right back on Earth where I belong!"

Blackheart laughed. "Oh, Johnny. It's a little late for that."

Blaze backed away slowly. "Why am I here? What have you done!"

"You mean you don't remember?" The prince feigned surprise before his chuckles got the better of him — he raised his hand, showing off the matching gold wedding band that he wore. "Of course you wouldn't. You'd have to be an archdemon to see through the spell I put you under four months ago."

"Spell?" Johnny spat. "What spell? What are you, some kinda fucking witch now?"

"I'm your husband," Blackheart corrected firmly, sauntering closer. "I must confess, Johnny, at first I was surprised by your sudden 'change of heart'. But you wouldn't stop with the flowers and the movie nights at your place-"

Blaze's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"-then you begged for my hand and, well, you were such a gentleman about it that you won me over completely." He sarcastically clasped both hands over his heart and grinned. "Besides, now that I'm married my days as prince are numbered. Soon I'll be king — my father cannot deny me my inheritance, now that he's legally bound and obligated."

Blaze felt like he'd lost. His. Mind. "_What!?_ I never asked you to-! How did-! You little son of a-!" He sprang at Blackheart, wrapped his hands around the demon's neck, and began to throttle him to death. The prince, thanks to his great powers, easily pried the man's hands off his throat and delivered a solid kick to his groin. Blaze immediately grabbed his aching, supernova-of-pain-filled crotch and fell to his knees, squeaking for breath.

"Damn it," Blackheart muttered, rubbing away the red marks on his skin. "You can't treat me like that. Don't you know I'm in a delicate condition?"

"Delicate my ass," Johnny wheezed, tears squeezing from the corners of his eyes and he glared up at his spouse. "You kicked me. _In the nuts_."

"And for that I'm sorry." Blackheart squatted down in front of Blaze. "Human men are surprisingly sensitive."

He reached out and brushed a tear from Johnny's cheek — Johnny made a revolted face and turned his head.

"Oh, come now. Don't be angry with me," Blackheart pouted. "You were so sweet a few weeks ago."

Something cold and sharp — like a scalpel of foreboding — went though Johnny's heart. He stared into the demon's cold blue eyes. ". . . what are you talking about?"

"Hmm, I really wish you didn't have to be spellbound for it," Blackheart murmured as a satisfied, secretive smirk came to his lips. "But there was no way you would have done it willingly."

"Done what?"

The shy, rosy expression that crossed the prince's face confirmed Johnny's worst nightmare long before the words ever came: "Planted your seed in my belly."

There was a 10-second-long pause.

"HHAAAAAAAA!" Blaze finally screeched, laughing hysterically and pointing his finger at Blackheart's startled face. "Joke's on you! You're a GUY!"

"I'm a _demon_," Blackheart snapped, silencing Johnny. "I can be anything I want. Have _anything_ I need." He paused for effect. "Physically. Bodily. _Anatomically_."

Blaze's grin slid off his face with the rest of his hope, dignity, and sanity. He gulped dryly. "So you." He coughed. "You're. You're pregnant. By me."

"Mm hmm," Blackheart hummed, grinning smugly. "I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to wait until the spell wore off. So what do you think?" He straightened his back a little. "Am I showing yet?"

Johnny Blaze, once a fortunate man with a long life of loneliness and misery and heartache to look forward to, turned slightly and sat down on the rug, staring into space for a few moments. "Are you _sure_ you're . . . ?"

"Three tests. All positive."

"Did . . . Did you try the EPT, too?"

"It was the first one I used."

Pause.

"Are you absolutely _ sure_ it's mine?"

"Of course. You've been the only man in my life, Johnny." He snickered. "And in my pants."

Blaze blinked slowly, all the fight gone out of him as the cold, hard reality set in: he was married to the demon Prince of Hell, apparently ass-over-tit in love with him, and had hellspawn _numero uno_ on the way. His life could not possibly get any worse. And if it could, he didn't want to be around to see it.

He crawled to his feet with a tired groan. Blackheart rose with him. "Okay," Blaze said. "Fine. No, it's okay. Really. It's cool. It's all good. I'm fine. I'm just . . . I'm just gonna go swallow some razors, I'll be right back-"

"Oh, stop your whining," Blackheart groused, letting Johnny collapse onto the bed. "Do you have any idea what _my_ life is going to be like for the next eight months?"

"Hey, _you_ wanted it," Blaze growled. "You're lucky I don't punch you in the gut right now and abort that little-"

"Don't you _dare_," Blackheart snarled, covering his belly protectively. "I went through hell to get this baby and I'll be damned if-"

"I couldn't have been _that_ bad," Johnny scoffed. "Sex is always the fun part of making kids."

"It wasn't for _me_," Blackheart retorted, giving Blaze an evil look. "The way you humans breed is positively dis_gusting_."

"Hey, whatever works, honey. You're welcome. Now get me the hell outta here. I don't wanna see you or Blackheart Junior ever again."

Anger washed over Blackheart's face. "You think marriage is some kind of _joke_?"

"_Our_ marriage? Yeah!" Blaze nodded enthusiastically. "I do! HA HA. See? It's hilarious!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" the prince cried, suddenly looking the tiniest bit unsure of himself. "What kind of a deadbeat husband _are_ you! You can't walk out on your newly-married, pregnant spouse!"

Johnny jumped to his feet. "_This_ deadbeat husband can! Sayonara, pregzilla. I'm going home, where _women_ have babies and witchcraft-possessed men aren't forced to knock up demons so that they can become kings of who-the-_fuck_-cares!" He started toward the door, and that was when Blackheart panicked.

"Johnny, wait! Johnny! Get back here, you lousy bastard! I'm you're husband and you _will_ listen to me! Johnny!"

Blaze strode quickly down a long, torchlit corridor with Blackheart stomping behind him, shouting obscenities and curses and waving his arms angrily. As he struggled to yank the ring off his finger, all Blaze could think about was getting out of Hell and/or finding some implement of death to commit suicide with. And with Mr Blackheart Blaze already nagging at his heels like a demented bitch, Johnny knew that if he were forced to endure the next eight months in wedlock, he was going to need to start drinking. Heavily.

Blaze was just about to descend the main staircase when Blackheart grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. The demon prince was livid, face red with anger and eyes gleaming dangerously. "How _dare_ you think you can just leave like this. Do you have any idea of the planning and effort that went into arranging this whole thing? Do you know that my father has agreed to return your soul to you, _and_ give you reign over a large portion of Hell? You're his favorite person in the world right now! You're his son-in-law!"

"Gee, thanks. I feel a lot better knowing I'm part of Satan's extended family."

Blackheart clenched his teeth, slowly shaking his head in disbelief while staring into Blaze's eyes. "I should have known," he muttered. "You've walked out on everything in your life, so why shouldn't you walk out on this? You know what that makes you, Johnny? A quitter. A big fat quitter who quits because he's scared of responsibility. Tch. You're nothing but a worthless carnie piece of shit who can't commit to anything, and I wish I never married you."

Johnny nodded wordlessly, placed his hand on Blackheart's chest, and calmly pushed him down the stairs.

Blackheart's arms shot out, spinning wildly as he tried to regain his balance, but it was already too late; he hit the stairs on his back and somersaulted end over end, thumping hard against the rug-covered stone stairs and screaming as he tumbled down and down.

In some instinctual part of Blaze's being, horror ripped through his heart when he realized he had just shoved a pregnant person down the stairs. He didn't know why he had done it, nor did he know why he found himself suddenly charging down the steps, taking them two and three at a time, bouncing off the railing and slamming against the wall.

Blackheart rolled to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and lay still. Johnny tripped over the last few steps and crashed at the demon's side. All he could think about was the baby. Blackheart's baby. _His_ baby.

He gently reached down and pulled Blackheart into a sitting position, one arm wrapped tightly around his narrow shoulders. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, his right eyebrow, and he looked as if he'd been hit on the head hard enough to knock him senseless.

Johnny leaned his back against the wall and looked down at the demon in his arms. He ran his hand over Blackheart's brow, combing his fingers through the jet black hair for the first time that he could remember. Why did he care? Why was he doing this? Was it the spell, or was it something else?

"Blackheart," he whispered, patting one pale cheek. "Are you okay? Blackheart, wake up. Hey listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do it. Open your eyes or something. Please. I didn't mean to push you. I'd forgotten all about . . ."

Why was his vision all blurry? Why did his eyes sting like that?

He gave Blackheart a gentle shake. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Look, I'll stay already. I'll do whatever you want. Just wake up and tell me you're okay. Tell me it's gonna be alright. Tell me that I didn't kill it . . ."

Bruised eyelids slowly fluttered open over a pair of eyes way too blue and pure to belong to a demon. Blackheart blinked a few more times and then a look of terror crossed his face as he fully came to. "Oh. Oh no-!" he uttered brokenly, his hands flying to his still-flat belly. "Oh please no-"

He stopped midsentence when Johnny's hand covered his own, and he looked up with astonishment. "John. Johnny-?"

The man had a harrowing, remorseful look on his face, as if he'd just been found guilty of the worst crime imaginable. "I'm sorry I did this to you. You were right. I am a worthless piece of shit. Only a total, complete bastard would push his pregnant wuh. Hus. S-spouse down the stairs. You wanted this baby, and who the hell am I to take it from you. I. I'm so fucking sorry, you don't even . . ." He bowed his head shamefully, unable to look at those stunned, betrayed eyes any more.

A hand grasping his collar brought him back up, and he saw a twinkle of light bounce off of the demon's gold ring. Blackheart looked up at him expressionlessly, and licked his bloody lips. "I'm. I'm sorry, too, Johnny. I shouldn't . . . shouldn't have done that to you. It was a mistake. I was foolish to think you'd want to commit to this, and it was wrong of me to make that decision for you. I'm sorry."

The question that had been begging to be asked finally came to Blaze: "Why _me_, Blackheart? Why did you pick _me_?"

"I . . ." The prince looked away. "I wanted my inheritance. I wanted you out of the picture forever. By marrying you, I'd get my rightful title and my father would have to relinquish his power over your soul. I knew you might cause trouble once you left Hell, so I thought . . ." He struggled to say the words. "I thought that if I gave you a family, something you'd always wanted, you'd leave me alone and we'd be even." He smiled slightly, only to let it fade as he rested his hand on his stomach. "I guess that's not going to happen now. I'm sorry, Johnny."

Blaze bit his lip and told himself that men don't cry, that he was a man and that he wasn't going to cry because he was a man who didn't cry. He released a trembling breath and gave Blackheart a gentle squeeze. "Not as sorry as I am."

The sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears, and both man and demon looked up to see Mephisto, appearing out of place without his customary long black coat, hobbling hurriedly across the room. He looked like a worried old man, somebody's Papa or Uncle Roy. Not the Lord of Hell.

He crouched down at his son's side and Johnny eased him up a little. "Blackheart, my word!" Mephisto exclaimed, the fear apparent in his voice. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"It was me," Blaze confessed. "I was the one who-"

"The one who tried to catch me," Blackheart interrupted, sending a determined stare in the Johnny's direction. "I was on my way downstairs when . . . I tripped. Johnny tried to grab me but it was too late. And . . . and I'm-" He struggled for the words.

Mephisto waited. "You're what? What's going on? Why are you-"

"I'm pregnant and I think I just killed my baby!" Blackheart yelled. The first of many tears to come rolled down his cheek.

The Devil drew back, astounded and horrified. He looked at Johnny, then at his son. "When were you planning on telling _me_ this? When I'm _dead_?"

"Dad!" Blackheart cried in exasperation, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Why are you worried about that now when I just lost-"

Mephisto ignored his overwrought son and reached out to place his hand on his belly. Blackheart became quiet and he and Blaze waited, watching the old man as he furrowed his brow, thinking. Assessing. Then, he smiled.

"So I'm going to be a grandfather, eh?" he said slyly.

Johnny laughed with relief. If you would have told him six months ago that he'd be happy his immortal enemy was carrying his demonic offspring, he would have flambéed your internal organs and turned your eyes into charcoal briquettes. But that wasn't the case now.

Blackheart released a huge sigh and let his head fall against Blaze's chest. Mephisto stood up with a strained grunt and put both hands on the skull of his cane. "Don't scare me like that again, young man," he warned halfheartedly as Johnny helped Blackheart to his feet. "And don't ever hide news this important from me ever again. There's a lot to be done, you know. This whole house has got to change. It needs to be baby-proofed. Can't have toddlers running into the lava pits or playing with the cutlery, and if the child is anything like _you_ were, Blackheart, we're going to need a witch doctor to live with us until the boy's at least thirty — or the girl, if it's a girl, until she's married and sent off to live with _her_ husband-"

While Mephisto continued to ramble on about this and that, interjecting a few exclamations about the pitter patter of little feet and the pride of being a grandparent, you know, routine insanity and out-of-characterness like that, Johnny and Blackheart slipped away and headed toward the fountain in the foyer. The man kept a firm hold on his demonic spouse, as if he were liable to trip and fall and kill himself and the baby in another freak mishap.

"I guess this means we're even after all," said Blackheart, sitting down on the edge of the fountain. Water gushed from the stone dragons in the center, and black lily pads floated in the pool.

"I guess so," Blaze agreed, sitting down beside him. "Here, let me, um . . . Your face is kinda bloody so . . ." He pulled his sleeve over his hand and dipped it in the water, and bashfully dabbed at the bloody cuts on Blackheart's face. The prince closed his eyes and held still until it was done, a hint of a smile growing on his lips.

"Thanks," he said.

"Sure," Johnny nodded.

An awkward silence fell between them. They listened to the water splashing and Mephisto's distant yammering.

"So, uh. Are you going to. . ." Blackheart began, suddenly very interested in a button on his vest. ". . . come back to collect the baby? When I have it."

Blaze sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. "No. I don't think I'm gonna do that."

Blackheart appeared as if he'd just been shoved down the stairs a second time. If he had a heart, Johnny was sure he could hear it breaking.

"What I mean," he reiterated, "is that I'm not planning on going anywhere. Not now." He reached over and grasped Blackheart's pale hand, a bold gesture of determination. "I'm not running out on the most important part of my life. I've got responsibilities now: I'm gonna be somebody's dad."

He and Blackheart shared a brief glance with one another. Nervous smiles, worried eyes. They were going to be parents, after all.

"But if you put a spell on me like that again," Johnny muttered, "I'm gonna kick your ass and let our kid join in."

Blackheart grinned a sideways smirk. "Okay," he nodded. "Fair enough."

"But y'know," Johnny wondered, releasing Blackheart's hand, "I bet if you hadn't put a spell on me I never would've agreed to this."

"Naturally. No sane man willingly wants to get married. Even demons know that. Just ask my father about _his_ marriage. He was solid drunk for the first two years."

"That explains you, I suppose."

"Hey."

"No, really. Coming from me, that was a complement. You don't even wanna _know_ about my parents."

Pause.

Blackheart mused, "We've got a lot to learn about each other, don't we?"

"Yeah," Johnny agreed. "That we do."

The fell into quiet chuckles and nods, then Blackheart sighed in a moving-on-to-another-topic sort of way. "So. You think there's any way you can rig a car seat to the Hellcycle?"

**The Beginning**


	2. Welcome to San Diablo

**Chapter 2: Welcome to San Diablo**

Hell wasn't that bad of a place, really. It took Johnny a week or two to get used to the air, which was a bit acrid and had a sulfuric under-smell to it. It was better than Los Angeles at any rate, and a hell of a lot cleaner. And aside from it being the same level of dimness all day, like living up in Norway during the winter months, it was actually kind of enjoyable. The weather was mild, the city was flourishing — filled with attorneys and business demons from all six hundred and sixty six provinces — and the food wasn't half bad.

The floor plan of Morningstar Manor, the Devil's own mansion, took up exactly one half acre, which is where the expression came from. But the souls of the damned never saw this half acre of Hell, nor the city and all of its nice commodities. In fact, the damned ended up in the equivalent of Chernobyl-meets-Alcatraz, miles and miles away on an island out in the middle of the Satanic Ocean. That's where Hell _really_ was — where the Devil lived was Nether-earth, as it was called by the hellfolk who lived there, and San Diablo was its capital.

Mephisto had taken Blaze on a brief limo tour of San Diablo, shown him the sights, the best restaurants, the hottest casinos and coolest bars. "Anything you want," Mephisto had said, lighting up a cigar, "is yours, Johnny. You're part of the family now. This town will bow to you."

"Nice. I feel like I married into the mafia."

"You did, son." Mephisto grinned around his cigar. "I _invented_ organized crime. Don't forget who I am, or who _you_ are."

Blaze sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Oh, I'm . . . sure I won't."

But even though Johnny, now the celebrity husband of the next future Lord and Emperor of Hell, had everything he could have ever wanted at the drop of a hat, he felt that there was something missing, some gaping hole of emptiness in his life that couldn't be filled with power or wealth or fame. And it all came down to his marriage.

It wasn't like how he'd imagined things would be. Of course, _none_ of this was what he would have imagined it to be; if it had been up to him, he probably would never have married at all, or if he had to, it would have been a nice normal human woman with a lot of patience and an appreciation for carnie grease-monkeys. But that hadn't happened (nor would it ever), and Blaze was trying to be a man and make the best of his situation. Still, there were some things he just didn't know how to handle quite yet. Like how he should act around Blackheart.

By this point Johnny could finally admit aloud that he was married to the demon, but they didn't interact with each other much and slept in separate beds in separate rooms. They hadn't talked about it or agreed to it — they just assumed that they wouldn't be sleeping together, and that was that. They rarely touched, they spent most of their time apart, and they sure as hell weren't affectionate with one another. Whatever passion that had occurred those weeks ago when Johnny had been under that spell wasn't there anymore. Not that he wanted it back, exactly . . . but married people had to at least _pretend_ they were happy, right?

It was difficult knowing how to behave with one's spouse, and frankly Blaze was clueless when it came to intimacy. Especially with guys. Especially with guy-demons. _Especially_ with pregnant guy-demons. And the fact that he'd essentially been unconscious for the greater part of his "relationship" with Blackheart, he had no idea where to begin. He'd never been much of a Romeo, but every time he saw Blackheart — with that lump slowly growing beneath his vest — Johnny felt as if he should at least do something nice for him. He was carrying his kid, after all.

That was another thing. Blackheart was a pretty slim dude, kind of short too when he wore sneakers instead of his usual boots, and on his wiry frame his pregnancy was starting to show. The witch doctor, a tentacle-armed demon with a face like a science experiment gone horribly wrong, was actually a knowledgeable, decent guy, and he personally saw to the prince's routine checkups and physical examinations. Johnny usually stayed behind for those — he didn't want to know what these "checkups" entailed, but he noticed that Blackheart never seemed willing to go and was always eager to get away afterward.

_Probably the tentacles_, Blaze thought, recalling the freaky sci-fi porn he'd seen back in the day. (Strictly in the name of research, of course.)

According to Dr Dementoad, Blackheart was about three months along now, holding up fine, no morning sickness or cravings or wild mood swings; he was oddly normal and unbothered by the whole situation. Whatever miraculous reverence women get for their bodies during gestation was lost on Blackheart, who took the stairs despite Johnny's orders for him to use the elevators, and regularly roughhoused with the Hounds of Hell, great big pony-sized beasts who pounced and rolled and slobbered all over him. Those dogs scared Blaze to fucking death, and they were fiercely protective of their master. He wouldn't go near them without his chain-whip, and forbade Blackheart going near them as well.

"I Don't Take Orders From You, Jackass" was the title of _that_ fight, and it was a day before they spoke to one another again. The next day they got into an argument about Blackheart's caloric intake, of all the trivial things. Johnny thought he wasn't eating enough and that it was going to make their kid shrimpy, and Blackheart had given him the finger and thrown a grapefruit at him.

They were fighting a lot, more every day it seemed. Johnny confided his marital problems to Mephisto in his study one night, but the demon lord hadn't been able to offer much advice. "I gave up the married life lonnnng ago," he muttered, sipping his brandy. "Maybe counseling will help."

But Blaze would rather die than go to a marriage counselor, because that would mean admitting that a) he wasn't dreaming this whole thing up, and b) there was a problem in his relationship, and he'd probably have to get sensitivity training or something. Johnny also wasn't sure he was ready for a happy wedded life yet . . . with kissing and cuddling and dinner parties and long walks on the beach followed by nights of endless, passionate love-making. No. He wasn't ready for that. He would _never_ be ready for that.

Regardless, this was _ his_ marriage. _He_ could handle it. He was the man, after all . . . even though Blackheart had the power and title and social status. Being married to someone more powerful than he was didn't bother Johnny, because the demon was as young and full of himself as an angry, recalcitrant teenager. He wasn't that bright either, even for royalty, though Johnny knew himself to be no smarter. And when two stupid people get married and have kids . . . well, that's just asking for trouble.

To be honest, Blaze didn't know how much longer he could take living in this house. The staff were creepy, formal dinners were agony, and if he had to play cards with the archdemons for one more night, he was going to be broke. And he'd just gotten his soul back, so that was an off-limits gambling bet from now on, so if he ended up owing Beelzebub, he was screwed.

Johnny Blaze wasn't happy, and that was the bottom line. He spent a long time wondering why, and then one day it [finally] hit him:

"We never had a honeymoon."

Blackheart didn't even look up at him, but kept his eyes glued to the pamphlet of music in front of him. "What do you mean?" he muttered, continuing with his piano lesson under the watchful eye of his yardstick-toting instructor.

"I mean we never had a honeymoon, that's what I mean," Blaze replied pointedly, wandering around the parlor. "Newlyweds, y'know, they usually take a vacation after they get married, go somewhere nice and relax for a while." He purposely left out the part about fucking like rabbits.

Blackheart carefully maneuvered his fingers around Mozart's _Piano Sonata No. 3_ and didn't even pretend to be interested. "Sounds like some silly human tradition," he said.

"It is. Look, I think we should take a vacation, you and me. It's not good being cooped up in this place all the time."

"You're not 'cooped', Johnny. You've got your Hellcycle and you can go anywhere you want. Ow!" He missed the B flat and the instructor gave his knuckles a rap with the yardstick.

"Yeah but." Blaze grimaced at the whine in his own voice. "But you should come with me."

"Why?"

"Because that's what married people do. They go on stupid honeymoons together and get to know one another."

"So it's a learning experience."

"Yes."

"While traveling."

"Yes."

"So in essence, we'd be going on a field trip." Blackheart sounded positively thrilled.

"Whatever," Johnny snapped. "We just need to get away for a week. Come on, it'll be fun." He hated that he'd had to resort to coaxing, but it was better than just giving up. He wasn't some pussy-whipped girly-man, and he wasn't going to be bossed around by his stuck-up, pregnant spouse. "Your dad won't be bothering us, no visits from Dr Freakenstein, you won't have to go to piano lessons . . ."

The sound of Mozart filled the silence between them for a moment, then Blackheart said, "You know I can't go to the mortal world, Johnny. Crossing the barrier between realms could kill the baby."

"I know," Blaze sighed. They'd already argued about that last week. "I was thinking someplace around here. The coast looks nice."

"That sea is teeming with monsters, Johnny. Have you ever _seen_ a Leviathan? Or Cthulhu and the Kracken during mating season? Those waters are rough for a reason. Ow!" The yardstick smacked against his fingers as he hit F sharp instead of F natural.

"What about in the mountains somewhere?"

"They're all volcanic and spewing lava, and the fumes would gag a buzzard. Only a complete idiot would go up there."

Blaze was growing desperate and annoyed. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and sulked. "What about the woods south of here? They look nice."

"Notrinity National Forest? It's full of bugs and trees."

"Yeah. That's why they call it the _woods_."

"I don't want to go."

"Then where _do_ you wanna go?"

"Nowhere. I'm happy here."

"Well I'm not."

"You can go to the woods if you want, Johnny. Nobody's stopping you."

"But that's the whole point of a HONEYMOON. Going someplace with your spouse and being alone together until you can't stand it anymore. It has to be done."

"Are you ordering me around again? Because I will _not_ be told what to-" Blackheart missed three notes in a row and the yardstick landed on his fingers so hard that it cracked. "OW!"

Johnny crossed the room in three strides, hauled the instructor up by his collar, and punched him square in the eye. He hit the floor with stars and birds twittering around his head.

Blackheart rubbed his smarting hands and looked up at Johnny with awe, admiration and sudden interest. Blaze wrenched the instructor up, gave him a hard shake and snarled, "If you hit my husband with that fucking stick one more time, you're gonna be shitting splinters for a week." He tossed the terrified demon out of the parlor. "Now get out of here before I get _really_ angry!"

He turned around and discovered Blackheart staring at him, wide-eyed. Johnny popped his neck and pretended he hadn't just punched the royal piano teacher. "The guy had it comin'," he muttered.

"Wh . . . But why-?"

Blaze shrugged. "I'm your man. Nobody hurts my family."

It could have been his imagination, but Johnny swore that Blackheart's cheeks turned red.

Three days later they left the Morningstar Manor and headed to Notrinity Forest for their official honeymoon.

**To Be Continued...**

**A/N:** A guide to the strange, absurd and often hilarious names in Hell:

**Morningstar Manor**, after the Morningstar, another name for Lucifer.  
**Nether-earth**, "nether" for "infernal" or "lower", and "earth" for the obvious. Think Middle-Earth, only the bad guys won.  
**The Satanic Ocean**, a spoof on the Atlantic Ocean, the turbulent western sea filled with all sorts of marine monsters.  
**San Diablo**, in imitation of San Diego, the capital/royal province of Nether-earth out of the 666 provinces.  
**Notrinity National Forest**, filled with bugs and trees. A take on Yosemite National Forest, only "no-trinity" means "no Father/Son/Holy Spirit" from biblical contexts.  
And even **Dr Dementoad** . . . who is in essence Dr Demento, a comedian disc jockey from the 1970s and a personal hero of mine.


	3. Honeymoon Hell

_**HJB:** __I can'__t believe I'__m still writing this. *headdesk*_

**Chapter 3: Honeymoon Hell**

It was a three hour drive to the heart of Notrinity Forest, and the closest civilization was almost 25 miles away, which essentially left Misters Johnny and Blackheart Blaze in the middle of fucking nowhere.

It was pouring when they reached the cabin that night (yes, it does rain down here), so they didn't even bother trying to get their gear out of the Jeep (yes, the Jeep — this is Nether-earth, not some third world hellhole, you know). They got indoors as fast as they could, only to discover that a recent storm had damaged the roof and it was leaking like a sieve. They spent the first hour of their honeymoon arranging pots and pans all over the cabin, and looking for the fuse box because the power wasn't working. Johnny and Blackheart were both perfectly miserable, and they only became miserabler when they discovered that a pack of evil woodland squirrels had made a nest in the only real bed. They tossed the ruined mattress out in the fire pit in the backyard and sat down in front of the cold, dark fireplace, shivering and soaked.

"Great way to start things off, huh?" Johnny joked, putting his hand in the pile of logs and lighting them up with his hellfire.

"Oh y-yeah," Blackheart muttered, his lips trembling and teeth chattering. "It's so nice and cold and shitty here. I'm _so_ glad I'm not at home and missing out on this. I wish I could thank the genius who thought of coming here." He glared sourly at his spouse.

"Aw, c'mon," Blaze said encouragingly, "haven't you ever been camping?"

"Abigor and I were in the Demon Scouts together, but we weren't allowed to camp with the rest of the troop ever since we started that forest fire." Blackheart shuddered and wrapped his wet arms around himself for warmth. "That was hundreds of years ago, when I was a kid. I don't do the outdoor thing anymore."

"Well," Blaze said, removing his leather jacket, "maybe all you need is your memory refreshed. Come on, we need to get outta these wet clothes and find some towels . . ."

Layer by layer they wrestled off their sopping wet boots and socks and shirts and wrung them out, then hung them by the fire to dry. Johnny was a bit startled by the sight of Blackheart's body: the lean, lightly-muscled limbs and pale skin, his slender-almost-delicate build, the slightly swollen appearance of his belly. It was the first time Johnny had ever seen real fleshly proof of the pregnancy, the first time he'd seen Blackheart without a shirt on, and he was surprised at how it made him feel. It made him want to protect Blackheart and keep him safe from harm. It made him want to go out and kill a deer and bring it back for dinner. It made him want to snarl and growl and fight off anything that dared to touch the mother/father of his unborn offspring. It was his duty, his purpose, and when you got down to it, the whole reason for his existence: live long enough to reproduce, and ensure the survival of the next generation. It was totally primal, an animal instinct. And, to his profound shock, Johnny's temperature was rising just thinking about it. And it _wasn't_ the Ghost Rider.

He jumped to his feet. "I'm gonna unpack the car," he said, and left before Blackheart could say anything in response. So the demon prince remained seated in front of the fire and listened to Blaze knocking around outside in the rain, cursing every now and then when he dropped something, usually on himself. He came in a half hour later, soggy and drenched, and handed some dry clothes to Blackheart.

"Here, I got some blankets and PJs. We can sleep out here for tonight."

"But there's only the couch and-"

"You take it. I have a sleeping bag."

"But that couch is a piece of shit. And it smells like dry rot."

"You can have the sleeping bag, then."

"But I'm cold."

"So sleep in front of the fire."

"But what if those squirrels get in again and attack me in my sleep?"

"Then you kick the little bastards into the fire, that's what."

"Johnny!" Blackheart shouted, annoyed that his hints were failing.

The man threw his arms open in exasperation. "_What_?"

Blackheart cast his eyes downward, the orange glow of the fire backlighting his slim frame. His black hair was shiny and wet, laying flat on his head and giving him a sort of emo look that was actually kind of attractive and not just obnoxious. He lifted his gaze to Johnny and shrugged one shoulder shyly. Johnny stared.

"I'm _cold_," Blackheart repeated.

"I . . . could set the cabin on fire if you want."

"NO. _God_." The demon threw his hands into the air. "You couldn't get a clue if they were giving them away!"

"I'm not a fucking mind reader, alright! Just tell me what you want!"

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I refuse to stoop to that level of desperation."

"Blackheart, if you don't tell me what's going on right now, I'm going to-"

"I want you to get over here and warm me up!"

The anger faded from Johnny's face, replaced with surprise. "What?"

Blackheart hunkered down, shuddering miserably and looking both ashamed and pissed off. "You heard me. Come over here and warm me up before I slip into a hypothermic coma. _With_ your baby."

Johnny, amazed by the unusual request and wondering if this qualified as pussy-whipped, obediently grabbed the sleeping bag from the pile of supplies on the floor and sat down beside Blackheart.

"And take off those pants already," the prince muttered. "You're leaving puddles everywhere you go."

"Yes, dear," Blaze grumbled, peeling off his soaked jeans and tossing them aside. "There. Happy now?"

"Happy as I can be, married to _you_."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Fine."

They both looked ridiculous right then, Johnny in his plaid boxers and Blackheart in his Calvins, both of them damp and cold and angry, sitting on the floor in a tense silence. Suddenly the demon winced and sucked in a breath, his hand automatically going to his belly. Blaze's whole demeanor changed. "You okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Blackheart hissed. "Just a cramp. It's gone now."

Johnny sat back on his knees and sighed. "We can't fight like this. You're getting stressed out and it's not good for the kid."

"_You're_ the one stressing me out," Blackheart snapped. "And hauling us out to this sin-forsaken place is only going to stress me out more."

"You stress out because you _let_ yourself get stressed out," Blaze said. "So stop stressing out."

"Why don't you just shut up and leave me alone?"

"Because you nagged me into coming over here, _darling_. I guess you were so 'stressed out' you forgot."

The demon prince glowered.

Johnny glowered right back. "So. Still want me to warm you up?"

Blackheart turned away. "I think I'd rather freeze now."

Blaze sat still for a few moments before he got up and unrolled the sleeping bag. Blackheart watched him carefully — he'd been married long enough to realize that when Johnny got all quiet and angry like this, something bad was following right behind it. He was right.

The man unzipped the sleeping bag, threw it open, and turned to the demon. "Come here."

"What?"

"_Come here_."

"Why?"

"Because I'm your husband and I said so."

Blackheart's mouth fell open in amazement at Johnny's audacity. "Do you think you _own_ me or something? I'd like to see you come over here and just _try _to make . . . ah. _Ah_!" Blackheart grimaced and doubled over, wrapping his arms over his stomach. "Ah _ shit,_" he groaned. "Fucking hell. _Fuck_."

Blaze dropped to his knees. "What's wrong? Does it hurt?"

"No, you idiot!" Blackheart snarled, tears welling in his eyes. "It tickles —_ arghh_!" He hung his head. "It hurts. Judas _Christ_, it hurts-"

Johnny gently put his hands on the demon's shoulders. "Okay. Okay. Calm down. Breeeeathe, that's it."

"Shut up! Get your hands off me!"

"Make me. Okay, breeeeathe. Innn and ouuut. Now take a deep breath-"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Just listen to me for once, would you! I'm trying to help you!"

Blackheart whimpered angrily, his pride and arrogance faltering. Johnny gingerly placed his hand on the demon's back, rubbing soothing circles against his cold, clammy skin.

"I'm not trying to dominate you, Blackheart, or ruin your life. I'm trying to look after you."

"I don't need looking after," Blackheart muttered, hurriedly wiping away his tears with his wrist.

"Bullshit. You're a reckless brat and you don't know anything about having babies."

"And I suppose _you_ do?"

"Hey, I've been around pregnant chicks before. I know things."

"This is different, Johnny."

"Tell me about it." Blaze sighed heavily. "Look. I think it's time we get something straight here. You're . . . well, let's just say it's a good thing you're good-looking, because you're probably the dumbest person I've ever met."

Blackheart bared his teeth like a snarling panther and prepared to launch into a conniption, but Johnny interrupted him before he could explode.

"Hey, I'm no smarter, believe me. It took me six years to get through high school, and if it weren't for summer school I'd probably still be there. I don't know a goddamned thing about responsibility or relationships or even how to act like a normal person. The only thing I can do right is ride a motorcycle, and the Ghost Rider does a better job than I ever could." He continued to massage Blackheart's back, which was having a calming effect as the demon listened to Johnny's unexpected anecdote.

He went on, "It's sad when a man's life revolves around crashing bikes and being a hero to a crowd of drunken rednecks. They say a celebrity becomes his fans, and if that's the case, I'm no better than those bozos that evolution forgot. I mean . . ." He pulled out a flannel blanket and threw it around Blackheart's shivering form. "There's no way I could play the piano like you, or rule an empire or tame a bunch of Hell Hounds or turn wine into blood, and _how_ many languages can you speak?"

"All of them."

"Yeah. You're pretty fucking accomplished, Blackheart. You achieve more in a week than I have in my entire life. I mean, the greatest thing _I've _ever done is-" He stopped. Fixed his eyes upon the slight lump in the demon's belly. "Is knock you up. My life's work is inside you."

Blackheart was stunned, somehow appearing both disgusted and flattered. "Wh . . . What are you saying?" He took a quick breath inward as Johnny reached around and placed his hand on the warm flesh of his stomach, one of those rare touches that they almost never shared. Blackheart made no move to slap the hand away.

"I'm saying," Blaze murmured, "that you're carrying the most important thing in the world to me, and that makes _you_ the most important thing in the world to me. What I don't understand is how somebody so talented and powerful can be such a stubborn, snotty little prick."

Blackheart was quiet for a moment, injured by the truth that he himself couldn't deny. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper: "All my life people have been telling me what to do. How to act. What I was going to be when I grew up. I could care less if I knew all the languages of the world, and I fucking _hate_ playing the piano." He raised his eyes to Johnny and grinned his sideways smirk. "When you punched Lord Vexsley I think I could have kissed you."

Blaze smiled.

"All my life I've been ruled," Blackheart continued, his dark eyebrows coming together and his grin fading. "My tutors and my officers and my father, all of them. I've had no life of my own. I thought that getting married would finally be the thing that set me free. I thought it was going to be a grand escape and nobody was going to tell me what to do ever again."

Johnny understood. "So that's why you get mad whenever I . . ."

"I didn't get married to take orders from a human," Blackheart said lowly. "I got married so that I could become the Lord of Hell."

"And where am I in this equation? Didn't you stop and think that getting pregnant might turn me into an overprotective son-of-a-bitch?"

"No. And why should I? You don't like me, you certainly don't _love_ me; I'm just giving you somebody you can take care of while I work on bringing about the end of the world."

"Is that what you plan to do? Just dump our kid off on me and say 'thanks, nice knowin' ya'?"

Blackheart looked surprised, as if the thought of actually raising a child hadn't occurred to him. "Yes. Why? Are you having second thoughts?"

Johnny shook his head in disbelief. "I never asked for a family, but I'm not backing out now. You and that baby are my family now, Blackheart, and I want us to stay together."

"But — but I can't raise a child _and_ be the king of Nether-earth!"

"You should have thought of that before forcing yourself on me."

"I didn't force anything — you were completely willing," Blackheart smirked.

"Yeah, I bet. About as willing as _you_ were, huh? There's gotta be a word for that: unwilling sex with an unconscious man for the purpose of getting involuntarily knocked up."

"Yeah. It's called 'taking one for the team'. Ever heard of it?"

Blaze massaged his temple and sighed. "Blackheart," he said, "when I ask you to do something, it's not because I'm an evil bastard who wants to enslave you. I want you to do those things because I care about you and I'm trying to take care of our baby."

"What about after that?" the demon asked. "What about after I have it? Will you 'care' about me then?"

"What does it matter if I do or don't?"

"Because I want to know."

"And I can't say," Johnny answered honestly. "I'm not a fortune teller. I can't predict the future. But if you would just let me take care of you now, it would mean the world to me. I've had nothing to contribute to this marriage, you already know that, so let me at least take part in _this_." He rubbed a circle over Blackheart's stomach, the firelight catching the glow of the wedding band on his finger. "I refuse to be an invisible husband, but I won't be a domineering one. Let me be a spouse and a father. I wouldn't dream of hurting you or causing you trouble; I just want some part in this relationship. I want . . . I _need_ this. Please. Let me be here for you."

Blackheart stared at Johnny for a moment, a confused frown on his pale face. "Why are you so desperate to make this marriage work?"

Blaze looked him in the eye. "Because running from my problems didn't fix them — it turned them into ghosts that still haunt me to this day . . . And I'm not going to add to that number."

Silence fell as Blackheart retreated into his mind for a moment, thinking, mulling over the idea of letting Johnny into his life. It didn't sound so bad, and he knew Johnny was too honest (and too stupid) to be capable of elaborate lies and deception. He wasn't like the other denizens of Hell; there was something about him that was still fresh and wholesome, unpolluted by centuries of living in sin and darkness. He was trustworthy for the most part, funny in a pathetically lame but endearing way, and he wasn't a slob. Maybe it was worth tolerating his constant meddling and barbaric, defending behavior — Blackheart had a lot to gain by accepting Johnny's companionship. It'd keep the piano instructor away, that's for sure.

The demon prince grinned slightly at the memory of Lord Vexley dropping like a fly and nodded. "Well," he said, "I guess we could give it a try."

Johnny looked incredibly relieved by the verdict. "Really? That's . . . Well, that's good to hear. Good news." He paused. "Thank you."

Blackheart turned his head and pretended he didn't hear.

"Hey, I've got an idea," said Blaze, stretching out on the padded sleeping bag and pulling a flannel blanket over himself. "How about I warm you up like you wanted?"

Blackheart turned and shot a disinterested glare at Johnny, who patted the spot beside him invitingly.

The demon deliberated for a moment before sighing with defeat and crawling over, still wrapped in his blanket, and laying down on the sleeping bag beside Johnny. They both curled up and settled in, tucked within their separate blankets against each other, and then lay still, letting their bodies warm one another. It wasn't as bad as Blackheart thought it would be. Just as long as Blaze didn't snore, the demon might be able to put up with this revolting intimacy. In fact, it actually felt nice to have a warm body against his back. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain drip into the pots and pans all over the room.

In a little while they had both fallen asleep. Together, for once.

† † †

The next morning, just to show things hadn't completely changed between them, they had a small tiff over breakfast. Apparently Johnny had never known demons ate granola, and he tried to pawn off some bacon he'd grilled up, only Blackheart was thoroughly disgusted.

"_No_," he repeated, holding his bowl far from the strip of bacon dangling from Blaze's fork. "I told you, get it away from me. I don't want any."

"What are you, Jewish?" Johnny kidded.

"No. I'm a vegetarian."

The man promptly began choking on his toast. "Wh-_what_?"

"I don't eat meat," repeated Blackheart.

Johnny looked petrified, absolutely aghast. "Since _when_?"

"Since ever. You haven't been paying attention to me at all in the past two months, have you?"

"It's not that! I just . . . didn't notice, I guess."

Blackheart shook his head sadly. "Way to break the case, Sherlock."

Johnny was still hung up on the revelation. "No way. A vegetarian demon? Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You never asked."

Blaze facepalmed. "Christ. No wonder you're so pale and skinny."

"I'm not skinny," Blackheart protested, leaning back in his chair with one hiking boot propped on the table's edge, holding his bowl of cereal against his chest. "I'm _trim_. Besides, you're just so used to looking at the fatsos in your world that when you actually see a thin person they look like a freak to you."

Blaze pointed his finger warningly. "That is completely true."

The demon smiled unexpectedly and tried to keep from laughing with his mouth full.

"Careful, you don't want soymilk coming outta your nose."

"Then stop trying to make me laugh, damn it!"

"I can't help it if you find everything I say funny and witty and _awesome_."

"Please. Let's not kid anyone here."

"Speaking of kids, you think it's okay for ours?" Johnny asked seriously. "Y'know, you being all vegetarian and stuff? I mean, it's not gonna hurt the baby or make it all sick and stuff, right?"

Blackheart eyed the greasy slice of bacon on Blaze's plate. "I think our baby's much better off this way. In fact-" He slid the box of Granoly-O's across the table. "Help yourself. 'Cause I'll be damned if you have a heart attack and leave me a single parent."

Unlike most of their arguments, this one ended with smiles and a truce.

† † †

They spent the morning cleaning up the cabin and fixing the holes in the roof in case it rained again. Of course, it didn't. After lunch they went for a walk among the giant blackwoods that were growing in the heart of the forest. It would have been a scary place if the hellfire sun weren't out, and Johnny found a dead tree just oozing with rich, golden honey. Unfortunately the bees were the size of terriers and had stingers like log pokers. Man and demon both had a nice little jog upon _that_ discovery, which ultimately led them to a grove of wild mushrooms. Blackheart was insistent that he knew how to duplicate Chef Evilrel's recipe for cream of mushroom soup, and after much coaxing, Johnny agreed. He mumbled about the lack of appetizing appeal for fungus and fungi and other nasty fungaloids as he carried a rucksack full of mushrooms all the way back to the cabin.

Johnny had no idea that Blackheart knew anything about cooking, but apparently he did. The soup turned out very good. Too good. Waaay too good. It was a pity that Blackheart had missed the day in Demon Scouts when Troop 666 learned to tell the difference between common white mushrooms and hallucinogenic, psychoactive, Lucy-in-the-Sky-with-Diamonds, fuck-you-up Inna-Gadda-da-Vida mushrooms.

What followed that evening could only be described as a far-out vacation to Mario Land where Blackheart was Princess Peach and Johnny was one of those flying bug-eyed fish, and they went dancing off into the rainbowy-bliss of the Mushroom Kingdom to the tune of 8-bit Nintendo soundtracks.

They woke up the next afternoon on the back porch, naked and covered with honey and leaves. It was as awkward as it was confusing. After showers and a few sobering cups of coffee, Johnny started to moan about how messed up the baby was going to be, though Blackheart insisted that he felt fine. Better than fine, actually — he hadn't had a cramp all day. Johnny still moaned, but with a little more hope.

They spent the rest of the day hanging out at the lake, unintentionally avoiding each other, which probably had something to do with waking up outdoors and in the buff. Things like that were always embarrassing, especially since Johnny always woke up with a stiffy and this one just happened to be poking into Blackheart's leg. Luckily he was able to get himself under control before the demon regained consciousness, which saved Johnny some grief in the long run. Blackheart would've never let him live down something like that.

That night the temperature dropped, and even despite the circumstances of earlier that day, Johnny and Blackheart settled side-by-side into the bed-pile they had made out of all the blankets and pillows they could find, and fell asleep listening to the fire crackle.

But when they woke up the next morning, Blackheart was irritated. "Your knee was poking me in the back all night long," he groused, still trying to comb the traces of honey out of his sticky hair. "You've got the hardest kneecaps on Nether-earth."

Johnny went white. Then he went red. "Sorry," he said, keeping his hands clasped firmly in his lap. "I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Good. Because it really hurts."

"Oh I know," he muttered. "Believe me, I know."

† † †

The rest of their week-long honeymoon passed uneventfully, unless you count the incident where they accidentally came upon a Kodiak hellbear and were forced to run for their lives. Blackheart, even in his "delicate condition" and wearing a backpack, was a pretty amazing runner, nimble as a deer. As he passed Blaze he waved cheerily and called, "Remember, Johnny! You don't have to outrun the bear! Just the person next to you!" Then he leaped over a ditch and was _gone_.

Luckily hellbears can't climb trees, but it was dark before Johnny was willing to venture down out of that fir. He came in through the front door at half past dark-thirty, covered with scratches and sap and bark and ready for a nice hot argument with a side of slamming doors, only to find Blackheart waiting on the couch and chewing his nails down to the quick. He jumped up when he saw Blaze walk in, and was white as a sheet. "Johnny-!" he exclaimed. "Where have you been?"

Blaze stopped in his tracks. "On the moon. Frolicking with the lunar elves."

Blackheart looked momentarily hurt by Johnny's sarcasm. The man shook his head. "I've been up a tree. All day."

"I thought the bear got you."

"Yeah. Well. Sorry to disappoint ya."

The demon stood awkwardly, looking almost ashamed of himself. "You scared the living sin out of me," he muttered, staring at the floor. "I thought I'd lost you. I've been thinking about it all afternoon . . ."

Of all the sentences Blackheart had said to Blaze in the three months of their marriage, aside from "I do" and "I'm pregnant", the one he spoke just now was the most powerful. Johnny didn't know how to handle deeply emotional comments like this, so he did what he usually did and played it off with humor: "Ah. You woulda been over me in a day."

Blackheart lifted his head and glared. "Don't be a jackass. I thought you were dead."

"Yeah, so did I. That bear was like a goddamned elephant. It's a good thing you made it out, though. Sitting in a tree is a real pain in the ass. An even bigger one than you are."

Blackheart half-grinned. "I guess I should thank you for being so slow. You saved me."

"That's my job, isn't it?"

"Well, it looks like 'your job' almost got you killed. You look terrible."

"Yeah, I know."

"But you at least you smell fresh."

"Thanks."

Blackheart turned toward the kitchen. "Hey, um . . . You want some cocoa?"

"Sure . . . Wait. It's not made with soymilk, is it?"

"Just try it. You can't taste the difference."

"No way, soymilk's for pussies. _Real_ men don't drink that nasty bean-juice-shit."

**~Five minutes later~**

Johnny smacked his lips as he lowered the steaming cup of cocoa from his mouth. "Aw, damn," he muttered, staring into the mug. "It _is_ good."

Sitting across from him by the fire, Blackheart smirked, but it was with genuine gladness. "Did I ever tell you about my dogs?"

"The Hell Hounds? No," said Johnny, surprised and amused by the demon's sudden friendliness. "Tell me."

Blackheart scooted closer and sat cross-legged on the sleeping bag. "Well, there are eight of them: Smasher, Crasher, Cancer and Lector, Vomit, Stupid, Boner and Hector-"

"Holy shit," Johnny laughed. "It's the eight reindogs of the Apocalypse!"

"Johnny."

"Sorry, sorry. Please continue."

"Well. Hector's my favorite, I call him Heck, and we got him years ago when Cerberus had puppies . . ."

It had been a bad day for Johnny, and the honeymoon hadn't turned out at all how he'd expected. But somehow, sitting by the fire and swapping animal stories with Blackheart made things seem a whole lot better. Maybe one day, Johnny thought hopefully, the adventures from today were going to become a family story that would be told over and over again.

† † †

"Welcome back, Master Blackheart," Beeves the butler greeted in his appropriately British drawl, picking up the grass-stained and leaf-covered coat that Blackheart threw on the floor of the foyer. "I do hope your honeymoon went well."

"Fuck off, Beeves," the prince muttered politely. Johnny came in behind him, looking even rougher than his spouse. Between the two of them, they looked like a pair of desert island refugees. Their clothes were dirty and wrinkled, they were sweaty and unshaven, and Johnny had run out of clean underwear two days ago. They were not happy campers, to put it appropriately.

"I need a _real_ shower," Blackheart muttered, trotting up the stairs. He passed his father on the way, and Mephisto greeted him casually.

"Hello, boy."

"Hmph."

Mephisto strolled over to Johnny, looking back at his son. "So. Did you have a good time?"

Johnny shrugged. "Yeah, I think so."

"You must be glad to be home. That cabin hasn't been used in fifteen years."

"We could tell."

"Indeed. I take it that the honeymoon solved your marriage problems?"

Johnny shook his head. "A little. I'm still gonna need to work on it, I think."

"Hmm. Maybe it's something you and Blackheart should work on together. He's part of this marriage, too."

Blaze was surprised. The old man could be surprisingly, creepily insightful. "Huh. You're right. I never thought of it like that . . ."

Mephisto smiled murkily and patted Johnny's shoulder.

Later that night, as Johnny gratefully settled into his lavish, comfy bed (the one with a scene from Revelations carved onto the headboard), all clean and groomed and brushed and _so_ glad to be out of the fucking woods, there was a soft knock on his door. "Yeah?"

It cracked open and Blackheart, dressed in jogging pants and a H.I.M. tee, crept quietly over to the bed. "Johnny."

"Yeah."

"Are you asleep?"

Blaze rolled his eyes in the dark. "No. I was just lying in bed with the lights off and my eyes closed." Pause. His sarcasm was utterly lost on Blackheart's phenomenal dimwittedness. "What do you want? Are you sick?"

"I'm fine. I just . . ."

". . . Yeah?"

There was no answer. Johnny felt the mattress dip as Blackheart crawled into the bed and wiggled his way beneath the covers. Then he laid still, said nothing at all, and Johnny got the feeling the demon was here only because his pride had finally lost the battle with his shame.

But Johnny didn't ask why. He didn't care. He rubbed his thumb over his wedding ring and fell asleep listening to Blackheart breathing beside him.

**To Be Continued...**


	4. The Forgotten Fiancée

**Chapter 4: The Forgotten Fiancée**

_Nether-earth  
Sometime during the first century A.D._

The grand city of San Diablo was silent. The volcanoes in the north were respectfully quiet, their calderas smoking mournfully. The Satanic Ocean to the west was calm — no crashing whitecaps today. Even the thunder and lightning had ceased, and Morningstar Manor was like a tomb on this dark, grave day.

A small caravan of riders appeared up the driveway of the Devil's abode, urging their brimstone-snorting horses through the front gate. They stopped at the front doors, and a figure cloaked in black dismounted her steed and was greeted by several worried butlers.

"Thank wickedness you're here, Madame de Mona," they said, ushering her inside. "We fear this may be the end."

"You did the right thing in sending for me," came the woman's deep and murky voice. "Where is he?"

The servants led Madame de Mona up the stairs to the fourth floor, where only the Infernal Royal Family and minions were granted entry. A small crowd of Hell's most decorated and high-ranking demons stood outside the double doors of the Devil's bedchamber, but the woman pushed through them without hesitation and entered the room with a flourish.

Mephisto was sitting in his large bed, propped up by pillows, looking pale and haggard. He forced a smile when he saw his guest approach. "Ah, Despicia," he rasped. "How good it is to see you."

Despicia de Mona, the most powerful (and beautiful) witch in Nether-earth, threw back her hood and shook out her long silver hair. "And you, my lord," she said, bowing her head in greeting but somehow managing to make the gesture look insolent. "Hmm. It seems you've been exorcised again, haven't you?"

"I'm afraid so." Mephisto paused to hack a wad of blood into his handkerchief. "I think I finally managed to piss off the wrong priest."

"Who was it this time?" Despicia asked, the smug grin never leaving her face.

"Peter, as a matter of fact."

"You mean _Saint_ Peter, the _Pope_? Dear me, Mephisto. You're lucky to be alive."

"I don't know about that," the demon lord muttered, coughing weakly. "If the rest of my existence is to be spent ruling Hell from a sickbed, I'd rather have died."

The witch studied Mephisto as if she were planning to make a coat out of his skin. "Why did you call me here, my lord?"

Mephisto grimaced as he repositioned himself against the pillows. "I understand you've been chasing after a province in Nether-earth of your own . . . Well, consider the chase over. I grant you leadership of any province of your choice."

"Any province?" Despicia echoed, dramatically pretending to be amazed. "You're most gracious, Mephisto!"

"Well, if I'm going to be bedridden from now on, I'll need strong, capable demons and demonesses to look after my empire."

Despicia sat down on the edge of the mattress and stared hard at Mephisto. "Forgive me, but I have a difficult time believing that you brought me all the way from my beautiful swamp just to throw real estate at me. Come now, Mephisto — why did you _really_ send for me?"

Mephisto sighed. There was no use in trying to hide the matter anymore. "I heard that you once restored an exorcised demon to full health again. I want you to do the same for me."

"I don't know, my lord," Despicia said, frowning. "It is a complicated potion, and the ingredients are very rare . . ."

"I will supply you with whatever you need." Cough cough hack. "My servants are at your command."

"It's not only the ingredients, but the effort as well." The witch stood up, wringing her hands with feigned worry. "Restoring an exorcised demon requires a tremendous amount of my personal energy and power . . . I'd be risking my life."

"I'm willing to bargain," Mephisto offered.

Despicia kept her face hidden as she grinned evilly. "A bargain?" she repeated.

"Yes. What do you desire, Despicia? Tell me and it's yours."

"Well, that's very kind of you, my lord, though I've never hungered much for power or riches or a kingdom of my own. What I value most is my family and its security."

"Ah, yes. I heard you recently had your first child. My belated congratulations to you and your . . . late husband."

"Thank you. I'm sure that Victor would have loved to see his daughter grow up, but you know how it is with Titans. Big and strong, but incredibly stupid. The authorities still don't know how all that holy water ended up in the jacuzzi." Despicia sniffed sadly, brushing away a crocodile tear. "I'll miss him so much."

"I bet," Mephisto muttered under his breath. "So then," he said aloud, "since family is your most important priority, what can I do for you and yours, my dear?"

"Oh, I don't know if there's anything you _can_ do," the witch replied. "My poor little Griselda has no father, no family ties, and no respectable demon will want to marry her." She turned, arching an eyebrow suggestively. "Unless of course . . . your son?"

Mephisto's eyes went wide. "What about him?"

"It would be easy to arrange their marriage, wouldn't it? Our families united by an unbreakable bond of matrimony, and my one wish at last granted?"

The Devil grimaced and whined, "But I have _plans_ for Blackheart . . ."

"What good are those plans if you're dead?" Despicia leaned over Mephisto, no longer smiling or pleading. "My daughter will make a good wife, and she'll carry on your royal bloodline without complaint. I know it's a difficult decision to make, Mephisto, especially since your son is still just a baby himself. But in a few millennia, when our children are of marrying age, I will send my Griselda to your Blackheart, and you'll see what a wise decision you've made. It's a perfect match, and with me as part of your extended family, I can help you accomplish anything you desire with my witchcraft. So what do you say, my lord?" She waved her hand, and a parchment and a quill appeared out of thin air. "Is it a deal?"

Mephisto sighed heavily, struggling to decide. His life or his son . . . Which was more important to him?

He grabbed the quill and hastily signed his name at the bottom of the contract. "There. Done."

"Excellent," the witch smirked. "You won't regret this, Mephisto."

"Whatever. Now, about that _potion _. . ."

Despicia straightened her back and smirked, clutching the scroll in her hand. "Of course, my lord."

**~2,000 years later~**

Blackheart was lounging in the oversized recliner in the rec room, reading _Harry Potter and the Orgy of the Owls,_ and munching on some banana chips with a pair of headphones fitted snugly onto the still-small-but-definitely-noticeable lump in his belly. He was four months along now and as unconcerned about it as he always was, although he was starting to have some trouble getting his pants to button these days.

The demon prince licked his finger and turned the page just as Blaze appeared in the doorway, dressed in oil-stained blue coveralls and panting slightly.

"Well, if it isn't my dear greaseball husband," he commented smugly, looking up from his book. "How's the bike coming, honey?"

"Do you really care?" Johnny huffed.

"No."

"Then why do you ask?"

Blackheart shrugged. "Just trying to make civil conversation, but apparently I forgot who I was talking to."

". . . Right."

"Any reason why you're so breathless?"

"Yeah: I've been running all over this goddamned house looking for you."

"We have an intercom, you know."

"Thanks for telling me that _now_ instead of, oh I dunno, _when I moved in_." Blaze paused suddenly, cocking his head and grinning, finally seeing how cozy Blackheart had made himself. "Well well well," he chirped, walking over to where the demon sat. "What a touching scene of maternal care! You look like a mother hen."

"Shut up," Blackheart muttered, only half-meaning it.

Johnny, still smiling, kneeled down and patted Blackheart's baby lump. The demon tolerated it, but only barely — they'd made an agreement last week about touching: belly only, one minute at a time, touching of all other body parts strictly prohibited and enforced by painful physical punishment.

"Well," said Blaze cheerfully, "it's good that you're paying attention to the kid. The doc said that at four months the baby's starting to hear things outside the womb. Hm, what's in the CD player?" He lifted the headphones and put them to his ears.

"-_gonna live my life to destroy your world! Prime directive: exterminate! The whole human race, then your face! Drops in a pile of flesh and then your heart, heart pounds and it pumps in death! Prime directive: exterminate! This whole fuckin place, well! All I wanted to say_-"

"Jesus, GOD!" Johnny cried, yanking the headphones away from his ears, as if the noise coming out of them was poison. "What're you trying to do to our kid, Blackheart? Turn it into Charles Manson or something?"

"Johnny. This child, however human it may look, is still half demon, and it's going to be _raised_ like a demon."

"Yeah, but! You can't subject a helpless fetus to this kind of shit! It's gonna get deformed by evil!"

"For hell's sakes, Johnny, it's only the Misfits. Classic horror punk, very chic, you know-"

"I don't care! Our baby is _not_ listening to this garbage."

Blackheart put his book aside and sat up. "Then what _would_ you have our baby listen to then? Celine Dion? The kid would end up a mutant retard if-"

"No no, something soothing! Like Beethoven or, or something from _Lord of the Rings_-"

"Over my dead-"

And then, the doorbell rang.

† † †

The deep, macabre chime echoed all throughout the mansion. Beeves the butler went to answer the door only to get knocked against the opposite wall when the huge doors blasted wide open. Thunder sounded and a terrible wind swept through the foyer, and Beeves dove for cover.

Through the doors walked a tall, slender woman dressed in black, her long white hair billowing in the wind and her eyes alight with fury. "MEPHISTOPHELEEEEEEEES!" she bellowed. "WHERE ARE YOU, YOU DOUBLE-CROSSING OLD SNAKE!"

Her words echoed through the empty foyer for a few seconds, then a dark mist materialized in front of the woman, solidifying until it became the Lord of Hell himself. And he did not look happy.

"What's the meaning of this?" Mephisto snarled, stepping forward. "Who are you?"

"You mean you don't remember me?" The figure moved into the light, the shadows racing away to reveal a familiar, beautiful, wicked face.

The situation went from bad to worse to fucked up beyond all belief. Mephisto turned white as a ghost, his eyes growing wide with shock. "Despicia de Mona," he uttered, suddenly remembering _everything_.

The witch didn't even offer an evil grin, but kept scowling, so great was her wrath. She raised her finger at the Devil. "You and I have a _lot_ to talk about."

"Lady," said Mephisto, "you ain't kidding."

† † †

In Mephisto's study Despicia de Mona was pacing the floor, ranting and shrieking, while the demon sat behind his desk and kept pouring shot after shot of whiskey into his highball.

"How could you, you two-timing bastard! We had an _ agreement _— we made a _deal_!"

"I must have forgotten," he shrugged, tossing back his glass and draining it. "My memory's not what it used to be, you know. I'm getting old."

"Don't lie to me, Mephisto! I know you've got a secretary!"

"Yeah, but I only keep her around for sexual favors. Aside from that, she's basically useless."

"You're appalling."

"God knows I do try," Mephisto sighed.

Despicia crossed her arms. "As if it wasn't bad enough that you let that wild, unruly son of yours run off and get married without first consulting you about it, _I_ wasn't even invited to the wedding. That just adds insult to injury!"

"Don't worry. You didn't miss anything, except the groom fainting."

She raised her finger warningly. "Stop joking around, you wiseass. Is this how you repay me for saving your life? By betraying me and breaking our contract?"

"Look, it's not my fault I forgot to tell Blackheart he was already engaged to your daughter. What's done is done. He's married now and I'm going to be a grandfather, so if there's anything I can-"

"GRANDFATHER!?" the witch screamed, blowing papers and pens off of Mephisto's desk. "What do you mean 'GRANDFATHER'!?"

The demon winced, holding his drink up so that it wouldn't get hurt by objects flying from his desk. When the winds finally settled down again, he took a modest sip and stared hard at Despicia.

"I mean I've got my first grandchild on the way. I wish Blackheart would have waited a little while, but he was very eager about starting a family of his own and keeping the bloodline going. I guess there's nothing I can do about it now."

"Of course you can," Despicia hissed. "You're the Devil! You can nullify their marriage!"

"Blackheart would kill me. He's very much in love, you know."

"Love? LOVE? Ha! Love has nothing to do with marriage — it never did! You have an obligation to me, Mephisto. My daughter is outside and waiting for her fiancé, and I am not turning back until I-"

"All right. _All right_. Look. Why don't I call him down right now and you can talk to him for yourself?"

Despicia shook her head incredulously. "Oh no no no, you're not going to weasel your way out of this one. It's not Blackheart's fault that his father is an incompetent moron. My argument is with _you_ and you alone, Mephisto. Bringing your son into this won't save you."

"Maybe not, but it'll help you to understand the situation a little better." Mephisto pressed a button on his desk phone. "Courtney? Please call Blackheart on the intercom and tell him to come down to my study right away. Thanks, babe." He returned his attention to the witch and raised his glass to his lips. "Better take a seat. He never uses the elevators."

Despicia grudgingly sat in the chair across from Mephisto's desk and crossed her arms and legs. The two powerful demons glared hatefully at one another in silence until a knock sounded on the door fifteen minutes later. Despicia turned just as the door cracked open and Blackheart stepped into the study.

"What do you want, old man?" he snapped.

"Take a seat, son," said Mephisto.

Blackheart cursed under his breath and walked across the room, letting himself slump into the chair beside the witch, who was smiling at him like a shark. He regarded her with a distrustful eye. "Who's this?"

"Madame Despicia de Mona of the 504th Province," she replied demurely, her eyes roaming over Blackheart's face in a way that totally creeped him out. "What a handsome young hellion you've become, my Prince. I'm so relieved you didn't take after your father."

Mephisto grunted something under his breath that sounded like a curse, and set his whiskey aside for a moment. "You're probably wondering why I called you down here, Blackheart."

"Not really. You do stupid, pointless shit all the time."

Despicia giggled to herself.

Mephisto waited for the witch to get a hold of herself before he continued. "Madame de Mona here is quite angry with me, son. See, I forgot to tell you that you've been betrothed to her daughter for the past two thousand years-"

Blackheart leaped out of his chair. "What!"

"-and now she wants me to annul your marriage so that you can marry Griselda de Mona-"

"You despicable old son of a-!"

"-but since I know you are so DEEPLY IN LOVE," Mephisto frowned, hoping his son would get the message, "I told her it would be impossible to separate you from your current spouse."

"How could you!? In love? What? That's-" Blackheart's face suddenly went ashen. He put a hand on his stomach and collapsed into the chair, panting and grimacing. "Oh shit," he moaned, "not again. Goddamned . . . stress . . ."

Despicia was perplexed. "What's going on? What's the matter with him?" she asked Mephisto.

The Devil was just opening his mouth to reply when Johnny Blaze burst through the study doors like the panicked husband that he was and ran to Blackheart's side. Despicia stared in shock as the obviously mortal man, dressed like a slovenly mechanic, kneeled down and took Blackheart's hand.

"I knew it wasn't a good idea for you to come in here alone," he muttered worriedly. "Okay, now just stay calm and try to relax. Think of something nice." He began to rub the prince's belly soothingly . "Take deep breaths. Picture a sea of fire and brimstone-"

"I told you to wait outside!" Blackheart snarled. "Why can't you ever listen to me, you bonehead?"

"What did you expect me to do? Just let you and your dad argue until you stress out and go into premature labor? I don't think so. Breathe now, Bee, just calm down . . ."

"Labor?" Despicia turned from the couple to Mephisto, looking as if she were torn between laughing and going insane. "LABOR?"

Mephisto grinned and shrugged. "Told you I was going to be a grandfather."

The witch, now overtaken by a horrified fury, began to sputter.

The Lord of Hell nodded to his son and son-in-law. "Despicia, meet Jonathan Blaze . . . Blackheart's husband."

Despicia looked on the verge of a stroke. She gripped the arms of her chair while her left eye twitched spastically. "You . . . let . . . your son . . . marry . . . a HUMAN. MAN."

"Ohhh, it's a long story-"

"A _man_!"

"Some time ago I made the mistake of trapping Zarathos, the demon of fire, in Johnny's body-"

"A mortal _man_!"

"He became my Ghost Rider, you know, since my last one ran away and I wanted a new one-"

"The Prince is pregnant-! With a _human's_ child!"

"Then my reckless asshole of a son decided to pull one of his adolescent rebellion stunts and ended up meeting Mr Blaze, then hate turned into love turned into marriage and now they're practically inseparable."

"I'm fine now, I'm _ fine_," Blackheart was muttering, slapping Johnny's hands away irritably. "Get away from me. Your minute's up."

Despicia slumped back in her chair, apparently in shock. "The Son of the Devil married a human man and is pregnant by him." She turned to Blackheart, scowling with disgust. "How could you _do_ this to yourself? Have you no shame?"

"I would if my face looked like yours!" Blackheart shouted, jumping partially out of his chair. Only Johnny's firm grip on his arms kept him from lunging at the startled witch.

"You're as foolish as your father," Despicia muttered. "You're a prince — you could have had any woman you desired, but instead you chose this dirty, ugly mortal to spend the rest of your life with-"

"Hey now," Johnny interrupted, "that's a bit below the belt, don't you think?"

"SILENCE, YOU FILTHY CRETIN!" Despicia thundered, and a hurricane force wind blew through the room again. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE A-"

This time there was nothing Johnny could do to keep Blackheart in his seat; the demon sprang up with murder in his eyes, threw out his open hand, and sent Despicia de Mona sailing across the room with one of those subsonic punches of invisible energy that Blaze remembered receiving in San Venganza. And it had hurt like hell, too. That was why he winced when the witch smashed into a bookcase and sent volumes of heavy tomes thumping onto the floor.

Blackheart lowered his hand, his skin color fading from dark blue to its normal shade of pasty white. "Nobody talks to my husband that way but _me_," he muttered.

Silence fell. Despicia pulled herself out of a pile of books and glowered at Blackheart, her fists shaking and her hair in disarray. "You little punk," she hissed. "You're going to marry my daughter if it's the last thing you do."

"You're gonna have to kill me first," said Johnny, stepping in front of Blackheart.

Despicia grinned and laughed. "That shouldn't be too difficult! Mortals have such a talent for dying."

"Got it," Mephisto suddenly barked, slapping his desk with his palm. Everybody in the room turned to look at him, having forgotten he was there. He'd obviously been thinking of ways to resolve this issue and had at last come up with an idea. "I know how we can settle this matter in an entertaining and diplomatic way."

The witch narrowed her eyes doubtfully. "How?"

The demon lord smirked. "By pitting Johnny against Griselda in a fight for Blackheart's hand."

Silence. Everyone was thinking it over. It seemed like a good plan, Johnny thought. He didn't like the idea of beating up a girl, but if it would save his marriage from this psychotic bitch, he was all for it.

"Sounds good to me," Blaze nodded. "I'm in."

Despicia smiled smugly and crossed her arms. "Griselda will be happy to annihilate this human scum any day of the week."

"How about Saturday?" Mephisto asked. "We can use the colosseum. Make an event out of it. Winner takes all, loser has to go home and never return."

"I'll be ready," Johnny vowed, cracking his knuckles. "Defeating a witch's daughter is going to be a piece of cake."

Despicia arched an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Yeah, really."

The witch put her fingers to her mouth and whistled loudly. A few moments later the ground started to shake. And then, like a nightmarish Kool-Aid commercial, this _thing_ crashed through the wall, shaking the entire house.

Blackheart grabbed onto Johnny's sleeve with one hand and put the other on his stomach. He looked terrified, and for good reason.

When the dust finally settled, Johnny and Blackheart stood in the shadow of a six-foot-nine Amazon warrioress with a muscles rippling over every inch of her body. Her long blond hair was in braided pigtails and the bikini and loincloth she wore was pink, but aside from that, she looked like He-Man on steroids. The massive female glared wordlessly down at the puny human man and grinned. "Hi," she growled in a voice like thunder. "I'm Griselda the Crusher. Pleased to meet you."

Johnny gulped audibly, and Blackheart said what his husband was thinking:

"Oh _shit_."

**To Be Continued...**


	5. Showdown at Slaughter Stadium

**Chapter 5: Showdown at Slaughter Stadium**

That evening at Morningstar Manor was anything but quiet. Blackheart, either affected by those second-trimester hormones or his own short temper, was having an attack of hysterics. Johnny was trying to comfort him as best as he could, but he could only do so much. And listening to Blackheart's pessimistic ranting wasn't exactly building his confidence.

"You're going to DIE!" the demon prince shouted, stomping through the house with Johnny following him at a safe distance. "Did you see the _size_ of that bitch? She's built like a fucking HOUSE!"

"Size doesn't matter!" Blaze insisted as they power-walked through the huge living room. "She looked dumb enough — the big ones always are. I'll just outsmart her."

Blackheart spun on his heel, catching Johnny by surprise. The prince looked rough: his face was red and flushed, his dark hair was messed up from running his hands through it over and over, and his demonic/emo eyeliner was smearing from his tears. "_Outsmart_ her? _You_, Johnny Dumbass Blaze, _outsmart_ her?"

Johnny raised his finger. "Hey. Don't call somebody stupid when _you're_ just as guilty. Remember how I kicked your ass in San Venganza and your dad had to come and drag your unconscious body back to Hell?"

"That was a lucky coincidence!"

"No it wasn't! You got careless and screwed up, and that's what I'm counting on with Griselda!"

"Her mother's a _witch_, Johnny!" Blackheart countered, turning back around and continuing his march through the house. "Her father was a Titan, and that makes her strong _and_ powerful."

"So am I!"

"As the Ghost Rider, _maybe_. If she knocks the power of Zarathos out of you — which is something even _I_ could do — then you're dead, and I'm going to have a hulking monster of a wife who has more hair on her chest than me!"

Blaze jogged to catch up and grabbed Blackheart by the shoulders, turning him around. "Look," he stated firmly, staring straight into the demon's blue eyes, "I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, alright? I'm planning to beat Griselda on Saturday, but I can't do it if all I hear from you is doom and gloom." He softened his tone a little. "I need your support right now, Black, not your negative attitude."

"I'm not being negative, I'm being realistic," Blackheart muttered, wiping his eyes and leaving dark smudges on his cheeks. "Griselda is bigger, stronger and more powerful than you'll ever be. If you lose to her, I'm going to kill myself. I mean it, Johnny. I'll eat a whole goddamned cow and die a slow and painful death from Mad Cow Disease-"

Blaze laughed. It made Blackheart angry.

"How can you laugh at a time like this!"

"Because it's funny!"

"No it isn't! You're going to be smashed to death by a fucking behemoth, and your unborn child and I are going to suffer the consequences because _you_ had to open your _big_-" He shoved Johnny in the chest. "-s_tupid-_" Again. "-mouth and agree to my father's insane plan!" He closed his eyes and drew in a long breath to calm himself down. "I am so mad at you right now, you just can't even imagine. I could kill you myself, Johnny Blaze, but if I did I'd never get to be king."

"Is that all I am to you? A free ticket to the throne?"

"Hardly _free _— I've been paying for it ever since I married you."

Johnny scowled. "You selfish, evil little brat."

Blackheart went nose to nose with him. "Better than being a stupid, brainless chump," he snarled.

"Boys, _boys_," came Mephisto's tired voice. Johnny and Blackheart turned to see the demon lord saunter into the den, dressed in his evening robe and slippers, holding an ice pack to his head and carrying a Bloody Virgin Mary in his other hand. "What's with all this fighting? Judas Christ, this isn't San Venganza. Sit down now, both of you."

Johnny and Blackheart took their seats at opposite ends of a large leather couch while Mephisto lowered himself into an ornate wing-back chair. "What's the problem? Are you worried about the duel on Saturday?"

"_I_ am," Blackheart snapped, "but only because I'm _normal_."

"Tch! You're a pregnant demon prince," Blaze scoffed. "You're not normal. You're hormonal."

"Yeah? Well these hormones are going to bust you right in the chops if you don't-"

"Blackheart, SHUT UP," Mephisto ordered, and his son stopped talking. "That goes for you too, Johnny. Both of you just shut your mouths and listen to me, because unlike you, I've got something important to say." He paused to take a sip of his drink before he continued. "I looked into this whole engagement problem and discovered that, technically, you two are _not _married."

Both Johnny and Blackheart were visibly stunned. "WHAT?" they said in unison.

Mephisto repositioned his ice pack. "Considering that Johnny was unconscious up until three months ago, he never gave his consent to be married, which means that he was not of sound mind and body when he signed the marriage license. Therefore, your marriage is a fraud. Way to go, son. Looks like your greed trumped your intelligence. As usual."

Blackheart sat on the couch with his mouth open in shock, and said nothing.

Johnny's anger abruptly fled from his heart, leaving him feeling strangely empty. "That can't be true. What about these?" He raised his left hand, showing Mephisto the gold wedding band he wore.

The demon shrugged. "Meaningless trinkets. Just because you wear a ring doesn't mean you're legally wed."

"Does anyone else know about this besides you?" Blackheart asked.

"No. And with your help we can keep it that way. You see, boys, if Despicia finds out that your marriage isn't real, there's no need for Johnny to fight Griselda because Griselda _will_ become my daughter-in-law."

Blackheart and Johnny recoiled in horror.

Mephisto nodded gravely. "My feelings exactly. That maniacal witch has been after my throne for years — I don't care what she says, all she's ever wanted is to rule Nether-earth — and if Blackheart is forced to marry her daughter, all it takes is one little accident and BAM. She's going to be in power. Heaven only knows what that bitch will do to this world."

"Accident?" Blackheart frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean an _accident_. You don't think Despicia's late husband was stupid enough to take a bath in holy water, do you? Hell no. That wench murdered him, and she'll murder me, too. She's got the power. Frankly, I'd rather fight over the throne with my idiot son for the rest of my life than get snuffed by a psychopathic witch."

Johnny slumped back into the couch, dazed from the news. "Wh-what can we do?"

"You can start acting like husbands, for one thing," Mephisto said sharply. "Your marriage is going to be under a spotlight until Saturday, and if Despicia sees anything out of the ordinary, she's going to start poking around. We can't afford to have her find out about this. If she does, it's going to be the end for all of us."

"So kill her already!" Blackheart cried. "What's stopping you?"

"It's not that simple, son. Believe me, there's nothing I would love to do more than rip that witch's head off, but she's the governor of the 504th province and she's very powerful, and if the authorities decided to investigate her death, it would lead them right back to you, and if they discover that the Prince of Hell faked his marriage so that he could become the next King of Hell, they're going to exile you for all eternity."

Mephisto sighed. "Do you understand how complicated this is, son? Once again, you ran full speed ahead into things without thinking them through, and now it could cost our family everything. I hope you're happy."

Blackheart hung his head, cowed into an ashamed silence. Johnny felt so sorry for him that he slid across the couch and put his arm around the demon comfortingly. "Don't worry, Black. Nobody's gonna find out about this. I'll get us through this mess somehow, I swear it."

Mephisto nodded earnestly. "Yes, that's good. You need to do more of this type of thing. Don't let Despicia think for one second that you two aren't madly in love."

Blackheart looked up. "_Madly_?"

"Yeah," Blaze agreed, "madly is a bit much. I mean . . . we can barely pull off _liking_ each other-"

"Well that's not my problem, is it?" Mephisto snapped, rising from his chair. "I suggest you two start practicing being nice to one another. Your lives depend on it."

He strode out of the den, and Blackheart and Johnny regarded each other warily. "I could be nice to you," the prince mumbled self-consciously, "if I really had to, I guess."

"Gee, thanks," Johnny muttered, removing his arm from Blackheart's shoulders. "It makes me real happy to know that you could _ pretend_ to like me as a last resort."

"At least I'm trying!"

"You can try better than that."

"Oh yeah? What about you?"

"_Me_?"

"Yeah, _you_."

"_I'm_ going to fight a giant woman to cover up a big mistake that _you_ made-"

"You're calling our marriage a mistake?"

"What marriage? You heard your dad; it might as well have never happened for all the planning you put into it-"

"I was just doing what I thought was right!"

"And you're a _real_ good judge of that, huh?"

Blackheart stood to his feet. "You don't know what it's like to be me, so piss off and leave me alone!"

"That's fine with me!" Johnny shouted after the demon as he stormed away. "And you can sleep in your _own_ goddamn bed tonight, 'honey'!"

Blackheart stomped out of the den, angry tears coursing down his cheeks.

Johnny let out a soft curse and punched the arm of the sofa, then leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. He listened to the sound of his faux-husband's footsteps fading away, then he drew in a breath and raised his head.

He didn't have time for this. He needed to start getting ready for Saturday. He needed to be in top physical condition. Griselda was big and strong, but the Ghost Rider was cunning and fast. It would be a close fight, and he might get his ass kicked to Heaven and back, but he was going to win it. He had to. If he didn't, the closest thing he'd ever had to a family would be destroyed. And the only way Johnny would ever let that happen is if Griselda killed him first.

Blaze stood up and walked out of the den. Time was short — he had three days to get ready for the fight, and he couldn't wait for Blackheart to get over himself. He was alone on this one.

And, somehow, that made Johnny feel lonelier than he'd ever felt in his life.

† † †

The nights were long and restless for Blackheart, who tossed and turned in his bed and had nightmares whenever he managed to get to sleep. He woke up tired and irritable, he kept having stomach cramps, and he'd lost his appetite. He didn't even feel like eating his chocolate peanut butter soy ice cream anymore, and that was his favorite dessert.

He hadn't seen Johnny for the past two days, something that wasn't unusual when one lived in a mansion that was over 100,000 square feet. He spent his time reading or teaching himself how to knit (and epically failing at it) or playing fetch with Heck, his favorite Hell Hound, but even that couldn't cheer him up. He slept too much. He ate too little. And Dr Dementoad told him that if he didn't start gaining weight soon, it was going to affect the baby. It was hard to imagine that only a few days ago his biggest concern had been whether or not he would still be able to button his favorite vest in another month.

Then on Friday night, Blackheart finally ran into Johnny in the kitchen. It was completely on accident and very awkward for both of them. They gazed at each other for a moment and then pretended that they hadn't seen one another, going about their business as if they weren't even in the same room. Johnny's heart ached when he saw how tired and worn out Blackheart looked. He hoped the baby was all right.

"Getting enough sleep?" he asked nervously, breaking the ice.

"Yeah." Blackheart nodded but didn't look his way. "You, uh . . . ready for tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Ready as I'll ever be."

"Oh. Good."

Pause.

"I guess I'll see you on Saturday, then."

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

"Right."

Pause.

Johnny couldn't resist: "Goodnight, Blackheart."

The demon cringed at the caring, thoughtful words, then walked out of the kitchen without replying. In the darkness of the corridor he silently cursed himself, and he didn't stop cursing himself until he had crawled into his big empty bed and pulled the covers over his head. "Idiot," he muttered to himself. "You should have said something. Idiot, idiot, _idiot_."

He winced as he felt a sharp pain bloom in his lower abdomen, and he put his hand over the lump in his stomach, hoping it would help ease the ache. But it wasn't the same. He needed Johnny. His hand was bigger and warmer, and he knew how to rub Blackheart's belly just right . . .

Tears of resentment filled the demon's blue eyes. By this time tomorrow, he thought, it could all be over. No more fake-marriage. No more freedom. No more Johnny.

Blackheart sprang out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, and for the first time since he'd been pregnant, he got sick. It almost felt good to throw up, but it left him so weak and shaking that he didn't want to get on his feet for fear of falling and getting hurt. So he pulled his bathrobe around himself and fell asleep leaning against the shower stall, keeping his arms folded protectively over his stomach all night long.

† † †

_Saturday, June 15th  
High noon  
Slaughter Stadium, San Diablo_

The Romanesque coliseum was filled to the brim with cheering, eager spectators, over fifty thousand in all, come to watch the high-stakes fight between the Prince's mortal husband and the daughter of Nether-earth's most powerful witch.

Mephisto, dressed smartly in a military-style royal suit, complete with gold tassels on the shoulders, medals for various nefarious acts, and wielding his diamond-skull cane, smiled and waved to the citizens of San Diablo with white-gloved hands.

Blackheart, dressed similarly with his shiny black hair combed back and looking exceptionally handsome despite his haggard, sleepless appearance, stood beside his father in the royal box — the seating area down front and center, closest to the action — and tried not to think about puking all over himself in front of every demon in Nether-earth.

Mephisto nudged Blackheart with his elbow and said, "Smile and wave, son. They'll think something's wrong with you."

Blackheart sighed, raising his gloved hand and forcing a smile onto his face. Lady-demons swooned and squealed at the sight of the comely young monarch and hoped that the fight today would kill both opponents, just so the Prince would end up single again.

Behind the royal family sat a bored-looking handful of personal attendants and poker buddies, including Lord Beelzebub and Beeves the butler.

Despicia de Mona, dressed in a flowing black gown and veil, stepped into the royal box and took her seat on the other side of Mephisto. She smiled smugly at him and fanned herself with her black lace fan. "Good day, your majesty," she greeted, making her words sound like an insult. "Lovely weather for a fight, no?"

She leaned over to grin across the way at Blackheart. "Hello, your highness."

The prince curled his lips back in a sneer. "Hello, your bitchiness-"

Mephisto's cane landed on Blackheart's foot, and he shut his mouth obediently, but not before he passed a sour look the witch's way. He took his seat while his father remained standing to announce the fight.

"She-devils and demons!" Mephisto bellowed, his voice echoing through the coliseum and silencing the crowd. "Harpies and hellions! Welcome to the Battle of the Betrothed!"

Cheers erupted all around. Blackheart felt his stomach churn with anxiety.

"This match will decide the fate and future for the Infernal Royal Family! Today, Ghost Rider Jonathan Harley Blaze will fight Griselda 'The Crusher' de Mona for the honor of becoming (or remaining) my in-law!"

The crowd went wild.

Deep inside the coliseum, dressed in his best suit of leather, his chain polished and shining, stood Johnny Blaze, listening to the thunderous applause outside. He paced the wide room where gladiators once waited to be unleashed into the arena, throwing a few practice punches and loosening up his tense muscles. He wondered if he'd see Blackheart out there. Maybe he hadn't come. Maybe he'd already given up.

Perhaps it was for the best, Johnny thought. He didn't want Blackheart to see him lose.

The man shook his head. "No. I'm not gonna lose. Not gonna lose. I don't feel like losing today." He took off his chain and practiced whipping it around. "You've gotta win, Blaze," he said to himself. "Failure is not an option."

Outside in the stands, Mephisto was thundering out the rules of the fight while Blackheart sat in his seat and grew more and more nauseated with each passing second. He'd broken out in a cold sweat, his mouth had gone dry, and it seemed like no matter how deeply he breathed he couldn't get enough air. It was too much: the bloodthirsty crowd, the impending fight, his father's voice ringing in his ears . . . and that evil witch just sitting there and grinning like the cat who'd eaten the canary.

Blackheart couldn't take another second of it. He jumped out of his chair and disappeared down the corridor that led from the royal box to the open halls within the coliseum. Alone at last, he leaned against a granite pillar and tried to catch his breath, aware of the tell-tale pangs that began to shoot through his stomach. He doubled over, clutching his middle.

"Johnny," he whimpered shamelessly, feeling very sick, very alone, and very scared. "I'm sorry, Johnny . . ."

"And hailing from the mortal world, the current champion, Johnny Blaze!"

Blackheart's head snapped up. Johnny was entering the arena right now. He could catch him if he ran. The demon prince turned and bolted down a long corridor, toward one of the many outlets into the arena.

Blaze stepped out into the blinding sun to a mixture of cheers and boos. Apparently half of San Diablo hated his guts and the other half didn't know who he was. Still, he knew how to work a crowd; he slid the chain from his shoulder and whipped it around like a lasso, showing off his best moves. The audience liked the show and at least stopped booing to watch.

"And from the 504th province, the challenger, Griselda de Mona!"

Across the quarter-mile wide arena, the gigantic woman plodded out into the open and raised her beefy, muscular arms above her head. She got more cheers than Johnny did, but this wasn't a popularity contest. She looked pretty intimidating though, dressed appropriately like a gladiator in a steel breastplate and leather skirt.

Johnny spit onto his hands and rubbed them together, thinking of how he was going to execute his first strike. Suddenly, over the roar of the crowd, he heard somebody calling his name. He looked to his right and saw Blackheart stumble out into the sunlight, dressed like the Prince of Wales.

"Blackheart!" Blaze jogged over to him and took him by the arms. "What're you doing here? The fight's about to start!"

"I had," he panted desperately, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, "to see you first."

Up above, Mephisto announced: "Hang on a minute, folks. It seems my son has some final words to say to the champion." He ducked down and leaned over the parapet, hissing, "_Blackheart! Get your ass up here RIGHT NOW!_" He stood up and put his smile back on. "Sorry about the delay everybody! I'm sure the Prince just wants to wish the champion good luck!"

"Is that why you're here?" Johnny asked, leaning close so that he didn't have to shout. "To wish me luck?"

"No," Blackheart uttered. "I'm here to say I'm sorry. I've been a selfish evil brat, just like you said."

"No, no, Black, I didn't mean-"

"I've taken you for granted, Johnny. I need you and . . . our baby needs you. If you win this fight, Johnny, I swear on my father's grave I'm going to start treating you right. No, I'm going to start right now-"

"I'm sure any minute now we can get this fight started! . . ._ Quit screwing around and get up here, boy! Beelzebub, go get him out of there!_"

Blackheart ignored his father and pulled a black silk handkerchief from his pocket. "Take this," he said, tying the kerchief around Blaze's upper arm. "For good luck. We're all counting on you."

They briefly met eyes and shared a single moment of raw, burning compassion for one another, then Blackheart turned to trot back into the coliseum. He'd taken two whole steps before Johnny grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back, right into his arms, and kissed Blackheart in a way that only married people are rightfully allowed to kiss: full bodied, hands-groping, tongue-tying, bend-you-over-backwards, horny-Casanova mouthsex type kissing. It caught Blackheart completely by surprise, but a half second later he was clutching Johnny's jacket and dishing it out like a desperate, nymphomaniacal housewife. It felt good. No; it felt _ great_.

Whistles and catcalls erupted from the crowds, and Mephisto and Despicia gawked at the sight below. "Judas _Christ_!" they both swore, leaning out of their seats. Even Griselda cocked her head to one side and grunted, "_Damn_."

Johnny pulled back with a gasp, and Blackheart tried to uncross his eyes. "I didn't want to die without doing that first," Blaze said, letting go of the demon once his equilibrium had returned. "Better get back in the stands now, Bee. This could get ugly."

Blackheart nodded distantly, still dazed from the Epic Kiss of Nuclear Mind-Blowing Awesomeness. "Right. Stands. Yes. I'll . . . I'm gonna go there now. You just . . . You stay alive, Johnny."

Blaze gave the prince a confident grin that was uniquely him. "I will."

Beelzebub emerged from the narrow corridor and gently led Blackheart back into the coliseum. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his eyes on Johnny, until he disappeared from view.

Mephisto massaged his temple. "FINALLY. Okay, folks! Let the fight begin!"

Beeves stoically picked up a huge mallet and smashed it into the enormous gong behind his master. The sound rang out like the crack of doom all over San Diablo. Devil and witch covered their ears and let out cries of pain.

"Pardon me," said Beeves dryly.

In the arena, Johnny held his chain ready and called upon the powers of Zarathos, his body igniting with flames as he became the Ghost Rider. He glared at the huge chick stomping toward him and started twirling a lasso of fiery chain. "Alright, you big bitch," he growled, "come and get it!"

When Griselda had gotten close enough, he threw the lasso around her thick neck and pulled it tight. For a minute the giantess looked surprised, but then she grabbed the burning chain in her meaty fist and yanked it hard.

The Rider, with a sinking déjà vu feeling, flew into the air toward Griselda. He was smart enough to let go of the chain before she could use it against him, but he hadn't counted upon sailing directly into her waiting fist.

The Rider's head came to an abrupt halt but his body kept moving. He did a complete somersault and was laid out on the ground like a bearskin rug.

The crowd cheered excitedly. Blackheart finally arrived back at the royal box in time to see his semi-conscious husband get dragged up by the vertebrae of his neck and hurled into the wall. The audience groaned collectively at the painful-looking sight.

"Johnny!" Blackheart cried in horror, leaning over the parapet.

"Sit down, son," his father snapped, trying to see around him. "You're blocking my view!"

The Rider, reeling from the impact against the wall, shook his flaming head and crawled to his feet. He took a moment to pick up his teeth and pop his jaw bone back into place, then he turned his glowing red eyes to Griselda, who beckoned to him smugly.

With a growl he rushed at her, but the big woman was ready: she threw a punch. He dodged it and grabbed the chain that was still dangling from her neck and began to run circles around her, effectively tying her up.

Blackheart grinned. "Go Johnny! Get her!"

When the Rider finally ran out of chain, Griselda was bound and helpless; he kicked her over and she landed with a thud into the dust. The crowd screamed and cheered. He turned around, raising his arms in victory and soaking up the glory.

On the ground behind him, Griselda let out a snarl and flexed her bulging muscles. The links in the chain began to bend. The Rider turned around and saw the straining, red-faced giantess burst through the chains and crawl to her feet.

"Oh shit," he muttered, watching six feet and nine inches of solid muscle loom over him. He decided to strike before she could, and he jumped forward, driving his fiery fist into her gut.

It was like hitting a frozen side of beef. The Rider heard his knuckles crack and he fell to his knees, consumed with pain. Griselda grinned like a rabid dog and grabbed her quarry by the skull, lifting him up. Her big hand almost completely covered the Rider's head, and she raised him up until they were staring eye to eye socket.

"After I kill you," she growled deeply, "the first thing I'm going to do is get rid of that nasty little parasite you planted in the Prince. It won't take much — just a little potion my mother will slip into his drink, and then it'll be dead in a minute." She tightened her grip until the Rider felt like his skull was going to crack. "No more dishonor, no more vile human offspring, ha ha haa!"

Deep within the flames of Zarathos, Johnny's human heart grew white-hot with rage. This sadistic cunt was going to kill his unborn child, maybe even Blackheart too, and here he was, trapped and helpless and in pain. Was there nothing he could do?

His flaming eyes wandered to the royal box. He could see Blackheart leaning over the edge of the wall, shouting something to him that he couldn't hear. Everything was happening in slow motion, and the Rider knew he was close to losing consciousness. The crowd of cheering spectators blurred. Tears of liquid fire burned in the demon's eyes, threatening to spill over white bone.

"I'm not gonna let it happen," he groaned, raising his injured hand and loosening the black silk handkerchief around his upper arm. "I'm not gonna lose the best thing that's ever happened to me-!"

The kerchief burst into smoldering flames, and the Rider lashed out with it, striking Griselda in the face with the flaming cloth and sending bits of ash and fire into her eyes. She let out a roar and immediately dropped her opponent, and a wave of astonished shouts rippled through the audience.

The Rider pulled himself from the ground and drew back his uninjured fist. The punch connected with Griselda's jowl, catching her by surprise. She stumbled backwards, rubbing her stinging eyes. The Rider kicked her in the shin, then the other shin, then punched her again.

In the stands, Blackheart was bouncing up and down like a kid at a carnival. "YEAH, JOHNNY! KICK HER ASS!"

Despicia leaped out of her seat and screamed, "HIT HIM, YOU FOOL! CAN'T YOU SEE HIM!?"

Griselda couldn't see anything except stars. Hit by hit she grew weaker, the Rider slowly wearing her down. Finally, the demon backed up a few paces, took a running start, jumped, and let his boot land a super-powered fly-kick right into her tits. The huge woman spun from the force of the blow and toppled into the dust.

The Rider reached down with his good hand and grabbed one long braided pigtail. He pulled, dragging her in a slow circle through the dirt, building up speed until her massive body finally left the ground. He spun harder, faster, until Griselda was nothing but a blur several feet from the ground. With a final roar, the Rider let go.

Griselda de Mona, spinning like a Frisbee, cleared the top of the coliseum and disappeared from view.

"Good gracious," Beeves commented, shielding his eyes from the sun. "The bloody bint went airborne."

Mephisto jumped out of his chair, beaming with joy. "THE WINNER!" he declared. "GHOST RIDER JOHNNY BLAZE!"

The audience went berserk; demons jumping and screaming and tossing black roses into the air — it was pandemonium. The noise was all but deafening. Despicia sank into her seat with a defeated snarl as Blackheart turned around and shouted to his father, "He won, Dad! He won!"

"I know! Did you see that heifer _fly_? I didn't think an ass that big was capable of getting off the ground!"

Blackheart laughed and Mephisto laughed with him and they both darted forward to hug each other, jumping with glee. Then they realized they were acting like idiots and immediately calmed down, stepping away and pretending nothing had happened.

In the arena, Johnny let the flaming skeleton of Zarathos vanish, and a huge wave of fatigue swept over him. He fell face down in the sand and didn't move. He didn't want to move. Every bone in his body ached, and his head felt like it had been squeezed in a vice all day long. But the pain didn't matter — he had saved his family. He had saved his baby, and Blackheart, and secured the future of the royal family.

_Man_, he thought ruefully, _Mephisto owes me big time for this._

Moments later he heard the sound of running footsteps drawing near, and he was suddenly rolled over onto his back. He blinked in the bright sunlight and saw Blackheart leaning over him. The demon prince, with tassels and medals hanging from his suit, had never looked so handsome.

"Hey," Johnny croaked, smiling dizzily. "I won, right?"

"Yeah, you won," Blackheart grinned, stroking his hand through Blaze's messy auburn hair. "I think Griselda landed somewhere outside the city limits. They're going to send the meat wagon out to get her."

"Good." Johnny closed his eyes. "That bitch was gonna kill our baby. I couldn't let that happen."

Blackheart swallowed dryly and tried to look happy despite the unsettling news. "And now it won't, thanks to you."

Several other faces popped into view around Johnny, including those of Beelzebub and Beeves. "Shall I call for a gurney, Master Blaze?" the butler drawled.

"No way," Johnny grunted, sitting up. "I'm _walking_ outta here."

With Blackheart's help he rose unsteadily to his feet, leaning against him for support. The crowd cheered when they saw the fallen hero get up, and Blaze waved to the whole coliseum. With Beeves and Beelzebub bringing up the rear, Johnny and Blackheart stumbled and tripped their way from the arena to a chorus of whistles and a rain of roses.

**~Later that night~**

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Blackheart muttered, watching from his bedroom window as Despicia de Mona and her heavily-medicated daughter were ushered into a black limousine that drove them away from Morningstar Manor.

He turned around and walked back to the bed where Johnny lay, bare from the waist up and peppered with bandages, cuts, scrapes and bruises. His right hand was wrapped in gauze, his left eye was purple and swollen, his lower lip was split open and still bleeding a little, but other than looking like a beaten piece of raw meat, he seemed fine.

Blackheart sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed a cold wet cloth to his husband's forehead. Johnny offered up a grateful smile, which Blackheart returned. "You were amazing today," he said softly. "I never thought you had it in you."

"Hell," Blaze scoffed, "I wasn't about to let that oversized bimbo tear this family apart."

Blackheart snickered. Johnny kept grinning. "You, um . . . looked really nice in that uniform of yours. I've never seen you with your hair combed back before. It kinda made you look like Al Pacino from _The Godfather_."

The prince smirked. "And I never knew your middle name was Harley. I guess your dad sure loved his motorcycles, huh?"

"Nah. He was just looking for a way to embarrass the hell outta me for the rest of my life."

Blackheart chuckled.

Then Johnny said in a quieter, more serious tone, "How's the lump?"

"Lump. . . ? Oh. You mean the . . ." Blackheart put his hand on his stomach. "It's doing better now. The pains went away. I . . . I think it missed you."

Johnny gazed at his spouse with heartfelt eyes. "I missed it, too. And you."

Blackheart glanced away shyly, but Blaze grasped his hand. "Thanks for supporting me."

"But . . . But I didn't. I mean, I wasn't there for you at _all_-"

"Yes you were." Johnny tapped his own chest. "You were right here the whole time."

Blackheart fidgeted anxiously, blinking his eyes rapidly. "Johnny, please stop this," he whispered.

"Stop what?" Blaze asked, sitting up gingerly.

"Being . . . like this. It's making me afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

Blackheart stared directly into Johnny's blue-green eyes, finding himself drawn irresistibly toward his lips. "Falling in love."

Johnny leaned closer. "What's so bad about falling in love?" he murmured, their noses brushing together.

"The consequences," Blackheart breathed, letting his eyes fall closed as Johnny leaned toward him and-

Their bedroom door swung open and man and demon recoiled so fast that Blackheart fell backward on the bed and bumped his head against the bed post.

In the doorway, Beelzebub checked himself and tried not to look as awkward as he felt. "F-forgive me, your highness, but your father told me to bring you the good news right away-"

"Goddammit, Bubba, what in the hell is so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?" Blackheart snapped, standing up and rubbing the sore spot on his head. "And could you at least _knock_ before barging in here? I mean, for the love of Judas, we could have been having sex or something!"

Johnny's eyebrow arched with interest. "We could?"

"Never mind," Blackheart muttered, wishing he had used a better example. "We could have been . . . been waltzing to Celine Dion, then I'd _really_ have to kill you."

"Understood, your highness."

The prince sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"The news, Bubba!" Blackheart snapped. "What is it?"

"Right, right. Yes. The news." Beelzebub clasped his hands together and smiled warmly. "Your father has decided to host a baby shower in your honor."

Blackheart looked as if he'd just been told the Pope was coming for tea tomorrow afternoon. Even Johnny looked startled, though much less horrified. "B-baby shower?" the prince stammered. "But-! But I-"

"The governor of every province (except the 504th, of course) is going to be in attendance, as well as members of the royal staff-"

"No!" Blackheart cried.

"-and all of the foreign ministers and top military personnel-"

"No!"

"-and you can't forget the dukes and duchesses and other nobility of Nether-earth-"

"NO!"

"Is everything all right, sir?" Beelzebub asked. "You seem to be in denial about something."

Blackheart sank down onto the bed and put his head in his hands. "Holy shit. Mother of Judas."

Johnny put his hand on his husband's shoulder. "Woah, woah! Calm down now, Black. It's just a baby shower with some of your dad's friends. How bad could it be?"

Blackheart lifted his head. His eyeliner was running again. "Bad," he muttered. "Very, _very_ bad . . ."

**To Be Continued...**


	6. Panic! at the Babyshower

**Chapter 6: Panic! at the Babyshower**

"My father is trying to ruin my life."

Blackheart peered through the curtains of his bedroom window and watched the sleek black luxury cars come lurking down the long driveway, one after the other. On the opposite side of the room, Johnny stood in front of the full-length mirror and adjusted his bow tie. His reddish-blond hair was neatly parted and slicked back, which caused him to resemble a 1950s mannequin in an over-starched tuxedo. He hated formal-dress occasions. Wearing a suit always made him look like he'd just walked out of a funeral parlor, and there was _no_ way he was putting on loafers; it was either his boots or nothing.

"No he isn't," Blaze replied monotonously, not really listening. "He's just proud of you and wants all of his friends to see you."

"Don't be an idiot, Johnny. We both know he's not proud of me." Blackheart began to anxiously chew on his fingernails as he paced the room. "He's pissed off that I figured out a way to pry my inheritance from his greedy fingers, and now he's punishing me. We're going to _die_ down there, Johnny."

"Figuratively or literally?"

"You don't care at all, do you?" exclaimed Blackheart angrily. "When everyone sees that I married a human-"

"Half-human, technically."

"-_any_ human, _and_ I'm pregnant, they're going to think I'm too soft to be the Lord of Hell. These are important people, Johnny! They're going to be my future servants, my advisers and foreign ministers. I need their obedience, and if they suspect that I got married and knocked up because I'm in _love_ or some ridiculous thing like that, then their respect and fear of me will be GONE."

Blackheart sank down into the chair in the corner and cradled his head in his hands. "I can't believe that old bastard would do this to me. I could kill him in cold blood. I could fucking murder him and roll in his guts."

Johnny turned around. "Okay now, let's just ease off the patricide and calm down a bit."

Blackheart lifted his head and stared at his 'unofficial' husband hopelessly. "What am I going to do, Johnny? I can't go down there like this, all knocked-up and married to a mortal. I'll be the laughingstock of the whole party."

Blaze stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and smiled patiently. "Look, the only way you can beat your dad at his own game is to just go down there and not give a damn what anyone thinks about you. He probably thinks you won't show up, and just imagine all the things he's gonna say about you if you're not there. Believe me, there's no better way to say 'screw you' than to attend this baby shower and dominate it like the Prince of Hell you are."

Blackheart let a half-grin creep onto his face. "I appreciate the pep-talk, honey, but this is _fucking suicide_."

Johnny strode over to the chair and pulled the demon out of it. "Then let's go out like men."

"Demons."

"Manly demons."

"Good enough."

"Alright, let's do this-"

"Wait. How do I look?" Blackheart held his arms out and did a 360 degree turn. His black suit was lost somewhere in the 19th century: ebony dress coat with silver trim, satin vest, silk cravat, and a tie-pin bearing a single small ruby . It would have looked positively ridiculous on anyone who wasn't demonic royalty. He stared at Johnny earnestly.

"You look great," said Blaze honestly, his eyes sweeping over Blackheart's handsome features. "You could probably dress up like the Hamburglar and still look good."

"You're just saying that," Blackheart smirked, adjusting his collar. The gold wedding band on his finger twinkled in the light. "Can you see the lump?"

"Uh, turn to the side and let me see. And don't suck in your stomach, either."

Blackheart turned. Johnny studied him.

In the four weeks that had passed since the fight at Slaughter Stadium, Blackheart's belly had gotten noticeably bigger. It was now obvious to anyone who saw him that he either had a serious case of beer gut or was five months pregnant. And since the rest of his body still appeared slim and youthful, his knocked-uppedness couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

"This may be a bit presumptuous," said Johnny gravely, "but I think you might have a bun in the oven."

Blackheart muttered a curse under his breath and started to go for the closet again. "Fine. I'll just find something looser to w-"

Blaze caught him by the elbow and steered him toward the door. "There's no time for that now. We're already late and you look just fine — black is a slimming color, remember? Besides, this is a baby shower. Everybody's expecting to see you . . . expecting."

Blackheart grimaced as if he were being asked to do something truly disgusting and unappealing, but reluctantly allowed Johnny to lead him from the room.

They made their down the broad hall, Blackheart grumbling and whining about how much he wanted to just stay in his room and what a horrible experience it was going to be and so on and so forth, ad nauseum. To Johnny's surprise, Blackheart turned away from the stairs and muttered, "I don't feel like walking down that mile-long slalom. We're taking the elevator this time."

Blaze tried to conceal his grin as they stepped into the waiting car and started on their way down. "Ahh, I get it. Is the baby putting too much weight on those delicate feet of yours?"

"Shut up," Blackheart tsked.

"Mood swings too, I see. You're really batting an average, dear."

"Johnny, if you say one more thing about how goddamned pregnant I am, I'm going to pop you in the mouth."

Blaze pouted and gave Blackheart a gentle, affectionate nudge. "I'm only trying to make you smile. C'mon, lighten up a little. You look so much better when you're happy."

Blackheart purposely tried to keep the grin off his lips, but failed miserably.

Johnny snickered. "See? I was right."

With a cheery _ding!_ the elevator door slid open. Man and demon stepped out into the first-floor hallway. Symphony music bounced off of the black marble floors, coming from the ballroom beyond. The dull noise of the crowd grew louder as they approached, and Blackheart became very nervous. He slipped his arm into Johnny's like a proper gentledemon and tried to keep his chin up as they entered the grand ballroom.

Upon their arrival all of the faces near them turned to stare, then slowly melted into diplomatic, nauseatingly-forced smiles. "Prince Blackhearrrrrt," the stuffy old demons and demonesses cooed, swarming forward and pushing Johnny to the side in the process.

Blackheart found himself surrounded by a teeming mob of people he barely knew, who shook his hand and/or patted his shoulder and/or kissed his cheek and/or ruffled his hair, all the while congratulating him on his marriage or his pregnancy and asking all sorts of intimate questions about what he was doing, when he was due, what his plans were for the baby, when he was going to be crowned, what shampoo he was using, where was that giantess-beating husband of his, and a dozen other things he couldn't seem to catch.

He felt like he was having a panic attack and was on the verge of hyperventilating from sheer pressure when he suddenly heard an annoyed voice grunt, "Excuse me. Pardon me. Yes, _ you_. Please move. Thanks."

Johnny shouldered past a mustachioed demon with a monocle and grasped Blackheart's elbow. "Pardon us," he stated, pulling his spouse out of the crowd. "Excuse us. Hello. Hi. Pardon us. Jonathan Blaze, hey. Nice to meet you . . ."

Finally, after what seemed like fifteen minutes of squeezing through a packed mile of bodies, Johnny and Blackheart emerged near the buffet on the side of the room. The demon sighed and put a grateful hand on Blaze's arm. "Thanks for rescuing me. I thought I was going to be smothered to death."

"No problem. I'm used to knocking fans outta my way. It's a survival skill." Blaze grabbed a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and took a long sip. "Mm. Good stuff. I didn't think-"

He stopped mid-sentence as Blackheart also picked up a champagne glass and nonchalantly put it to his lips.

"No!" Johnny cried, swiping the glass from his spouse and sending its contents spraying all over the hors d'oeuvre platter and an important-looking old matron in a fur boa.

Blackheart glared at Blaze as if the man had gone crazy. "What is the _matter_ with you?" he exclaimed. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Have _you_? Do you have any idea what alcohol can do to a developing fetus?" Johnny demanded, looking suddenly unhinged. "I can't believe you could be so negligent!"

Blackheart gave Blaze a dubious look. "Johnny, I'm a demon. Alcohol doesn't affect me like a mortal. Trust me, it's fine-" He reached for the wine bottle on the buffet table but Johnny beat him to it, snatching it away.

"No, it isn't," he said firmly. "You may be a demon, but that baby is half human. We don't know what's capable of hurting it. If there's any doubt, play it safe. No alcohol. No drugs. No second-hand smoke. Nothing that could possibly hurt our kid. Understand?"

Blackheart crossed his arms. "You're telling me what _I_ should do with my own body? That's pretty fucking gutsy of you, Jonathan."

"It's not just _your_ body anymore," Blaze snapped. "Stop thinking of yourself for once. You're going to be a father. Start acting like one."

The prince scowled, but Johnny's words had knocked him off of his pedestal of selfishness; he seemed annoyed yet embarrassed that he'd been lectured to, and when Blackheart got into one of his grudge-pouts, it was a recipe for disaster. Johnny knew that if he didn't do something quickly Blackheart wouldn't speak to him for the rest of the night. And they'd been getting along so well lately . . .

He slipped his arm around Blackheart's waist and started walking. "Tell ya what, Bee. I'll make a deal: I won't do anything that you can't do — we either enjoy something together or not at all. How does that sound?"

"Stupid," Blackheart muttered, still sulking like a chastised teenager.

"Aw, come on. I'll make sacrifices if you make sacrifices. Even-Stevens. What do you say?"

The demon sighed and rolled his eyes. "All right. Fine. Whatever."

"Excellent."

"And take your arm off me. I don't want people to think we're in love."

"Oh, right. I forgot." Johnny reluctantly drew away and sighed.

A few demons passed by, sending nods and smiles and bows in Blackheart's direction. Every now and then they caught glimpses of familiar faces: Beelzebub raiding the buffet with Dagon; Beeves the butler weaving between guests with a tray of cakes; Mephisto puffing on a cigar and standing close to an attractive blonde woman who seemed to be about 30 years younger than him — probably Courtney, his secretary. But aside from them, all of these demons were strangers.

They hadn't even been at the party for a half hour and Johnny was already getting bored and restless, looking around for something to do while Blackheart visited among the future members of his court. The prince seemed much more patient than usual; he accepted everyone's well-wishes with courtesy and politeness that Johnny rarely saw, but Blackheart always turned away with a sour expression on his face, muttering about the person to whom he'd last spoken.

He noticed Blaze watching him after one such incident and shrugged helplessly. "Public relations. It sucks."

"Tell me about it," Johnny answered, understanding the value of publicity and keeping up appearances. It was something he hated doing as well, but since his fans were his livelihood, he really had no choice. Funny how much he and Blackheart had in common . . .

Blaze heard laughter and automatically turned his head in its direction, then blinked several times. He reached out and tugged on Blackheart's sleeve, pointing to a group of what looked like military demons gathered in a corner. "Is that who I think it is?"

Blackheart followed Johnny's finger. "Oh. Yeah. That's Joseph Stalin."

"What's _he_ doing here?"

"He killed almost 20 million of his own people. Where did you think he was going to end up — Heaven?"

"But he, he's human, right?"

"Human, made honorary demon. He's one of my dad's advisers," Blackheart explained, then pointed on the other side of the room. "We've got all sorts of evil celebrities down here. There's Saddam Hussein, scarfing down the pâté. Last time he attended a party at our house he got a cracker stuck in his throat and Ivan the Terrible had to give him the Heimlich Maneuver. Speaking of crazy Russians, there's Rasputin, drunk as usual."

A scary-looking man with a scraggly bearded had a bottle of vodka clutched in his fist and was laughing uproariously with a bunch of scarier-looking demons.

Blaze shook his head, wanting to laugh but unable to do it. "This is . . . awful. I didn't know all these bastards were still alive."

"Don't worry," Blackheart shrugged, picking up a cluster of red grapes from the buffet and popping them one at a time into his mouth. "Most of them are on leave from Hell. They get pardoned every now and then for special events, but afterwards they just get chucked back into the flames. Grape?"

"No thanks. Woah. Who's that guy in the weird hat?"

Blackheart squinted his eyes and stood on his tiptoes. "Looks like Aleister Crowley. He's an interesting fellow, one of my dad's good friends, but if you talk to him for more than five minutes you'll want to kill yourself."

They moved slowly through the crowd, Blackheart pointing out important people and Johnny taking it all in.

"Over there is the Marquis de Sade. I see he brought his S&M posse with him again."

"De Sade?" Johnny curled his lip. "The necrophiliac?"

"And the lover of sadomasochism and furries. Don't look so scared, Johnny. He's as crazy as a shithouse rat, but he can't hurt anyone when he's in that straight jacket.

"Oh look, there's Tomas de Torquemada — one of the worst torturers of the Spanish Inquisition. Ugh, that coat he's wearing is hideous. Somebody should have told him this wasn't a costume party. Hey, don't look now, John, but Genghis Khan is right there to your two o'clock. He and Caligula are having an argument about politics again. Hm, I wonder if Vlad Tepes is here?"

"Vlad _who_?"

"Tepes. The Prince of Wallachia. You know him as Vlad Dracula."

"Woah,_ the_ Dracula? He was _real_?"

"Of course: Vlad the Impaler, great guy. He can play darts like no demon I've seen. His breath is really bad, though. It's like the guy eats a pound of garlic every day and doesn't brush his teeth."

Johnny shook his head with amazement. "This is incredible. I never thought I'd be standing in the same room with the most evil men in history. What's-"

Blaze was abruptly cut off by a heavily-accented Austrian voice calling, "Blackheart! Is dat you, leetle Prinze?"

Blackheart's whole body went stiff. His eyes shot open. "Oh no," he whispered. "Not Adolf."

"_Who_?"

Johnny had no time to prepare himself for the sight: Adolf Hitler, infamous Führer of the Third Reich, dressed in his best military suit with the red swastika armband and sporting that unmistakable toothbrush mustache, beamed like a giddy school girl and shoved his way out from between two demons, squealing as he laid eyes on Blackheart. He raised his glass and sloshed champagne all over everyone standing near him.

"Dere he iz!" he cried. "Mein dear leetle Prinze! Oh, how handsome you look, _Schatz_! Komm, giff me ein hug, you silly boy!"

The villainous dictator lunged after Blackheart, pulling him into a tight embrace and giggling insanely. He'd obviously been spending too much time at the punch bowl. "It's been so long, mein Prinze! _Wie geht's?_ How hab you-"

"Oof!"

"_Hoppla! _I did not mean to squeeze so hard. I forgot about de baby."

He gave Blackheart's belly a pat and winked. The demon looked at Hitler like one would look at an ugly, drooling dog with one eye, half an ear, three legs and mange. Johnny was staring in horrified awe, his jaw hanging slack, and unfortunately attracted the attention of the mad Führer.

"Und dis must be your Mann, ja?" Hitler strode over to Johnny, grabbed his hand, and pumped it excitedly. "Such a tall, schtrong Mann he iz! I kann see why you married him, hee hee!"

Blackheart facepalmed, embarrassed beyond words at the crowd this Nazi fruitcake was attracting. He put his hands on Johnny's shoulders and steered him away. "It was nice to see you, Adolf, but we've really got to be going right now-"

"Oh, _warte mal_! Before you go, here iz de prezent I brought for you!"

A parcel was shoved into Blackheart's hands, wrapped in hideous paper decorated with rattles and teddy bears and swastikas. The prince grimaced at it. "Adolf, you're supposed to wait until the end of the night to-"

"I know, I know! But I couldn't wait ein minute longer! Go ahead, open it!"

Blackheart grudgingly tore through the wrapping while Hitler looked on gleefully. It was a thick spiral-bound hardcover book. Blackheart read the title aloud: "_Mein Kampf . . . für die beste Vegetarisch Rezepte finden!_" (_My Struggle . . . to Find the Best Vegetarian Recipes!_) He showed it to Johnny. "It's a vegetarian cookbook," he explained.

"I wrote it myself," Hitler said bashfully.

Blackheart opened it up and found a hand-written autograph on the first page. "_To Prince Blackheart_," he read. "_May your whole family enjoy these fabulous recipes. Love, Hitler_ . . ." He sighed tiredly. "Oh, Adolf. You shouldn't have."

"Anysing for you, mein leetle Prinze." The Nazi patted the Blackheart's cheek. "Now, don't spend too much time hier — das smoke is bad for de baby, you know. _Da_, anyveys! _Herzlichen Glückwunsch und auf Wiedersehen, Liebling!_" Blowing goodbye-kisses, he turned and pranced off, as gay as a handbag full of rainbows.

Blackheart turned to Johnny with half of his face hidden by his hand. "I am _so_ sorry you had to endure that," he said. "I didn't see him coming, otherwise I would have gotten us the hell out of here."

"It's okay. Not your fault he's a few tacos short of a fiesta platter."

Blackheart grinned, gazing at 'his Mann' gratefully. "Thanks for being here with me, Johnny."

Blaze smiled. "Anytime."

Just then, he felt a tap on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice ask: "Hey, Rider, what's up?"

He turned to see, of all the people he had never expected to see again, the Earth Elemental, Gressil. Beside him teetered the Water Elemental, Wallow, and the Air Elemental, Abigor, was puffing on a huge cigar and looking very proud of himself. All three were wearing garish tuxedos that had somehow been modified to resemble their respective elements.

"Holy hell," Blaze muttered. "Not _you_ again."

Blackheart saw them over Johnny's shoulder, gawked, sputtered, then went red. "What in the hell are you worthless scumbags doing here?"

"Just trying to have fun, m'lord." Gressil snatched up a champagne glass, tossed the contents onto Wallow, and munched down on the glass like it was rock candy. Wallow, who had already endured a hefty dose of his comrade's spilling-and-snacking tactic that evening, was stone-drunk and wobbling all over the place.

"Who let you in?" Blackheart seethed between gritted teeth. "You weren't on the guest list!"

Gressil shrugged. "The guards let us through. We had to give 'em blowjobs, but hey, that's a small price to pay to wish our favorite leader the best!" He slapped Blackheart's arm in typical buddy fashion. Blackheart just stared at him as if he were crazy.

"Yeah, we came to congratulate you, 'Hearty," Abigor added with a grin, showing off his pointy teeth. "When we heard you'd gotten married and knocked up, we-"

"How was the sex?" Wallow interrupted loudly, falling on Gressil's shoulder. "I heard, I heard that if you have sex with a mutal horman, morman hutal, a _man_, and then you stand on your head, milk will run outta your nose." He giggled and hiccupped.

Blackheart clenched his teeth as a hot wave of color hit his cheeks. "I honestly wouldn't know," he snapped. "Anyway, it's none of your fucking business."

"Well, I — WELL, anyway, Blackheart," Wallow slurred, "as my friend of friends of enemies' friends, I think I should be the first of us Hidden to tell you, tell you how nice it is to see you. But you, man, you know, it's been so long, you're really lookin' FAT."

Both Johnny and Blackheart stared in surprise.

"Yeah," Wallow continued, shaking his head sadly, "like you're just packin' on those pounds like crazy. Crazy, man, you know what happens after you have a baby, right? You, your body can't take the stress and you just end up getting fatter and older and slower and uglier, and then, then one day, you find yourself sitting on the couch with a HUGE FAT ass, like _this_ big, I'm talking gargantuan, sucking down Twinkies and watching talk shows about midgets fucking their gay cousins, and then your husband is so repulsed by how ugly you've gotten that he starts cheating on you with his ex-girlfriend and-"

Blackheart was steaming furious by this point. "SHUT THE _FUCK_ UP, WALLOW!"

"He's right, Blackheart," Gressil agreed. "You _have_ gained some weight."

"I'm supposed to; I'm _pregnant_."

"Well, don't use that as an excuse to let yourself go. 'Cause you're starting to look pretty dumpy. You were always the thinnest one of us, so you better watch those extra calories. I hear baby bellies are hard to work off." He took a bite out of another glass thoughtfully.

Blackheart moved his mouth but no sound came out, he was that shocked and angry. But the gauntlet wasn't over yet:

"Too bad you're not free later," Abigor said smugly. "We're all going clubbing after we ditch this funeral. The Drake sisters are back at, er oh, what's the name of that titty bar we used to go to all the time?"

"Slither's," Gressil grunted.

"Slither's, yeah, the Drake sisters are back at Slither's, giving those $300 lap dances, remember those? 'Look but don't touch', ha. I remember groping those chicks every time we went. Good times."

Johnny stood by and took in all this news with a fascinated ear, while Blackheart rubbed his forehead and winced in agony at the awkwardness.

"Remember, remember that one time, Blackheart," Wallow said excitedly, "when you got SO wasted that you got up on stage and started stripping with the Drake sisters?"

"Haha, aw man!" Gressil laughed. "You were soooo drunk! I mean, I've seen you really shitfaced over the years, but _this_ took the medal."

"And we'd been smoking your dad's pot all night!" Abigor added jovially. "You were high as a kite!"

"I bet those girls'd never seen his royal highness grind a pole like that before!"

"You were so wild back then," Abigor sighed. "Oh well. I guess we all have to get old and settle down sometime. Maybe one of these days, when I'm tired of partying and having sex with beautiful sixteen year-old girls every night, I'll get married, too."

"But not right now," Wallow chirped. "I'm havin' too much fun!"

The Hidden burst into laughter, and Blackheart, unable to stand another second of this abuse, turned on his heel and started plowing his way through the crowd. Johnny began to chase after him, reconsidered, and approached the three chortling demons angrily.

They all sobered up when they saw the dark, smoldering fury lurking in Blaze's eyes. He raised his finger and growled calmly, "That was a really shitty thing you guys just did. If you've hurt his feelings, _I'm_ going to hurt your _bodies_. You can count on it." He jabbed Wallow in the chest with his finger to make his point clear, then turned without another word to try to find his husband.

† † †

Johnny found him sure enough; Blackheart was sitting on the pristine white tile between the sinks in the men's room, Hitler's cookbook at his feet, sobbing like a man who was experiencing a midlife crisis.

"Oh Jesus," Blaze sighed, then locked the door behind himself and sat down next to his sort-of-spouse. "Hey. What's the matter?"

"Those fucking _ assholes_," Blackheart choked, drawing up his knees and resting his elbows on them. "They humiliated me. In two fucking minutes they beat me down-" His sentence was interrupted by a sob. He pressed his fingers to his brow and wept real tears of real pain.

It was a difficult thing for Johnny to watch. He'd seen Blackheart get worked up before, but a deep wound had been opened this time, and the crying he was witnessing now was the most heartbroken, gut-wrenching case of man-weeping he'd ever seen. He felt that there was no way he could even begin to heal this type of damage.

Johnny let his shoulders slump, feeling useless and stupid and depressed. He was capable of protecting Blackheart from physical harm — he was good at that — but protecting him from emotional attacks and heartache seemed impossible. He simply didn't know how to do it. It made him feel defective, a husband who couldn't do his job. And besides, he'd been the one who'd told Blackheart that everything would be fine, that this party would go off without a hitch. But now, with everything turned to shit, he felt like he'd given false hope to Blackheart, and built him up only to let him down.

Blackheart sucked in a gasp, his lips trembling, and turned his red-rimmed eyes to the ceiling. "I'm n-not ready for this," he croaked. "I'm not ready to be married. I'm not ready to have kids. I'm not ready to be a father. Wh-why did I think this was going to solve my problems? I've fucked up, Johnny. I think I've really fucked up big time. I don't wanna be the King of Hell anymore. I just want my old life back."

"It's a little late to turn back now, Bee," Johnny said gently. "You've made your choices and now you've gotta see them through to the end. I've got to, too."

Blackheart let his head thump against the wall. "Why do all the plans I make backfire on me? Why can't I do something right for a change? Why does everything I do-" He let out a sob and launched into a fresh bout of tears.

Johnny leaned his back against the wall, and for some reason thought about San Venganza. It seemed like ages ago, but it couldn't have been more than a year. So much had changed since then. He'd had no idea of the pressure that his young enemy had been under. He'd had no idea how desperate Blackheart was to validate himself to the people of his world. If he was willing to trick his worst enemy into marrying him and having his baby to get him off his back for the rest of eternity, he must have wanted to be the Ruler of Nether-earth more than anything. And now, ironically, Blackheart wanted anything but what was inevitably and inescapably coming to him.

It was a horrible, confusing, fucked-up situation to be in, Blaze imagined. It made being stuck with a curse like the Ghost Rider's seem like an all-expenses-paid holiday to the Caribbean.

"How old are you, Blackheart?" Johnny asked, out of curiosity.

"A little over two thousand," the demon sniffed, rubbing his red nose.

"In human years. What would that make you?"

Blackheart swallowed, did some mental calculations, ticked off numbers on his fingers. He turned to look at Johnny with red, remorseful eyes. "About nineteen."

"Nine_teen_?" Blaze repeated, his voice cracking with shock. "Good _God_! You — you're just a kid. I'm almost twice your age. Oh Christ, I've knocked up a _teenager_. If we were in my world and you were a few years younger, I'd be thrown in jail so fast it'd . . ."

Not exactly words of comfort. Johnny regretted opening his big mouth when he saw the pained look cross Blackheart's face.

"N-not that that means anything. I mean, age is just a number, right? Hell, I'm thirty two but no smarter now than when I was twenty, if that makes you feel any better."

When Blackheart started weeping again, Johnny felt like a blundering douchebag. He sighed and pulled his legs up, laying his arms on his knees.

"Maybe you're right, Black," he muttered. "You're not ready for this and neither am I. I didn't ask to get married or be a dad, but if that's what God planned for me . . ."

"God didn't plan this, Johnny, _I_ did," Blackheart rasped. "Buddha didn't put a spell on you, and Krishna didn't knock himself up when he fucked you; it was all _me_. So not only have I ruined _my_ life, I've also ruined yours, too." He put his palms over his eyes. "I should have left you out of it. You didn't deserve to be punished like this — no one does, not even my worst enemy."

As he hid his face in his hands, the gold wedding ring on his finger looking suddenly out-of-place on someone so young, even though the problems he was going through were surprisingly adult; it was natural that he didn't know how to handle them. He was still a kid. _A hell of an old kid_, Johnny thought, _but still a kid_.

He scooted closer and carefully slid his arm around Blackheart's shoulders. The distraught young demon turned and buried his face into the crook of Johnny's neck, crying shamelessly and grasping the lapel of Johnny's tux in his hand. Blaze patted his back soothingly, not caring if Blackheart's eyeliner was leaving dark wet streaks all over his white dress shirt. This party was over as far as he was concerned. Over but not ended.

He tightened his grip on the demon's shoulder, feeling angry at the things that were causing Blackheart such grief. It was unfair and humiliating — Blackheart was an arrogant prick with a bad attitude, not a weepy little pansy who ran and hid in the bathroom when the going got tough. He was an ass-kicker filled with all sorts of misguided anger and paternal resentment. He was a demon, a hellion, the son of Satan. And it made Johnny dizzy with anger at that whole room of spiteful, pompous, shit-eating prats out there. He would like nothing better than to go back in that ballroom and let the Rider's hellfire blow them all to Kingdom Come. But it wasn't his fight. Not this time.

"Blackheart," he said, very calmly and evenly, "I want you to get pissed off. I want you to get so pissed off that you could kill the first bastard who looks at you the wrong way."

Blackheart stopped sobbing to raise his head.

"I want you to go back out there and think of every action, every consequence, every person that has ever screwed you over. I want you to turn your sorrow into rage. I want you to show everyone the darkest side of the Prince of Hell, the side that nobody in their right mind wants to fuck with."

Blackheart sat up, his face blank with shock.

"Because they're all winning right now, Blackheart. They're out there having a good laugh at your expense, and you're letting them. They're walking all over you, and you're just laying there. They're spitting in your face, and you're just smiling at them. They think you're naïve. They think you're stupid. They think you're weak and frail and worthless and incompetent, and that you'll never amount to anything-"

A pair of pale hands slowly clenched into fists. Blackheart stared at the door, listening to Johnny's words of war.

"-and you're rolling over and taking it like their bitch. And they're loving every second of it. Why? Because deep down, they all hate you, Blackheart. They hate you because one day they're all going to have to bow down to you, so they're beating you up now while they still can. And when you're king, they're gonna do everything they can to make you look bad. They're gonna do everything they can to make sure that you screw up. They want you to fail, but you're not _gonna_ fail, are you?"

"N-no."

"And you know why? Because you've got the balls to go out there and tell it like it is. You've got the guts to show them all what they're messing with. You've got the strength. You've got the power. All you need is the focus. You're gonna show all those hoity-toity upper-class snobs what happens when they try to fuck with the Prince of Hell."

Blackheart rose to his feet, his teeth gritted in fury, his eyes darkening with wrath. "Yeah. _Yeah_. Who do they think they _are_?"

"That's it."

"They think they can insult me and _get away with it_?"

"Don't hold it back," Johnny urged. "Let it out."

"They think they can look down their noses at me, treat me like garbage, and go _unpunished_ for it?"

"Madder. Get madder, Black."

"Those pathetic _ peons_," Blackheart growled, a strange blue mist surrounding his body. "Those worthless piles of _slime_." His skin darkened to a shadowy blue, his eyes growing red as fire. "They think they're _better_ than me?"

"They do," Johnny said, backing up cautiously. "They're all laughing at you. Only you can shut them up, Black."

"They'll pay."

"Make them stop laughing."

"They'll all _pay_."

"Go show 'em what you're made of!"

Blackheart unleashed a roar and kicked down the bathroom door. That was Blaze's cue to duck and cover; he put his hands over his head and hit the floor, knowing that things were about to get very bad very quickly. And he was absolutely right.

Blackheart strode down the hall toward the ballroom, his eyes now nothing but two burning red coals of insane fury. He stormed into the crowded room and began tossing people out of his way — without lifting a hand. There was a shimmering field of energy around him, like heat rising from a hot road, distorting the air with ripples. Any demon unfortunate enough to come into contact with this field was immediately thrown into the air or propelled across the room. Very quickly the guests realized this and got out of Blackheart's way, falling silent in terror.

As he came to the center of the room, the demon prince stopped and turned, glaring hatefully at the faces around him, staring in disbelief. "You all disgust me," he snarled, his voice contorted by his infernal powers. The dark glow surrounding him doubled in size, and the guests scrambled backward to escape it.

"You miserable old fools with your _traditions_ and your _outdated ways_ of thinking," Blackheart spoke loudly, addressing the entire room. He had the audience's undivided attention. "I know why you're here. You came to mock me. Isn't that right? You're here to see for yourselves the ruin that was once the Prince of Hell, to smile and point and laugh as if I were _freak_ brought in for your own amusement."

Blackheart was beginning to change, growing taller and darker, shifting form as he became what he truly was beneath his mortal exterior. The crowd shrank back in fear.

"You came to laugh at my misfortune," he growled, his voice taking on many tones. "You came to ridicule and pity me because you believe I have brought shame and disgrace to this kingdom. But your words count for nothing, because I _will_ be your King one day, and I will see each and every one of you unworthy insects _beg_ for my mercy on that day!"

Demons by the doors were beginning to make a run for it, perhaps sensing the impending doom.

Claws began to sprout from Blackheart's hands as he thundered, "You think that a 2,000 year-old is too young to rule an empire? You think that being married means I'm helpless and needy? That being pregnant means I'm soft and caring? YOU'RE WRONG."

His black suit appeared to melt into his body, which was transforming into a fearsome creature that seemed half man and half beast, his thick skin the color of moonlight shadows, muscles bulging from his arms, spines growing from his head. He leaped up on a nearby table, sending everything on it crashing and shattering to the floor.

With eyes all but flaming with malice, the Prince of Hell bellowed, "UNTIL YOU HAVE SUFFERED THE INDIGNITY OF MARRYING YOUR WORST ENEMY, AND CARRYING HIS SEED IN YOUR OWN FLESH, YOU WILL _ NEVER_ KNOW THE TRUE MEANING OF WRATH, FURY AND RAAAAAGE!"

The bulbs in the chandeliers exploded. The ballroom fell into darkness. Screams and shouts sounded all around. But there was light, a glowing bluish light, and it was radiating from Blackheart, now fully transformed into his monstrous demonic form: burning red eyes, a mane of long, dangerous quills, a body of pure muscle, a thick whip-like tail — the sight of him sent cries of fear and awe through the crowd. Some ran, others stayed. All were petrified.

The beast that was Blackheart jumped from the table and raged through the room, roaring like a monstrous lion, sending any person in his way flying with a powerful strike of his arm. Johnny, who had only moments ago reentered the room, threw himself against the wall as a screaming she-devil in a black frock went sailing past him. He caught sight of the huge demon tearing through the room, and if it weren't for Zarathos keeping him alive, Johnny was sure he would have died of fright.

Blackheart was like a tornado of destruction, wreaking havoc from every angle, smashing chairs and tables and all the while screaming, "FEAR ME! HONOR ME! ADORE ME! OR BE DESTROYYYYYYED!"

The demon threw back his head and howled in a thousand hellish voices, the sound of it so deafening that it shattered every window in the room, including the skylight in the ceiling. The remaining guests shrieked and covered their heads. Shards of broken glass rained down onto the beast's broad shoulders as his howl of rage tapered off and ended. At last, it seemed, his anger had spent itself.

Blackheart's body slowly melted back to that of its human form, looking harrassed and drained of energy, but oddly pleased with himself. He heaved a sigh of relief, staring at the silent and stunned faces around him. Summoning the last reserves of his strength, he held his head high and walked through the crowd. The demons parted before him respectfully, bowing low in submission, not wishing to anger their future ruler ever again.

Blackheart ignored them and kept walking. He didn't stop until he saw Johnny waiting for him by the door; he paused and gazed at the man, who smiled at him and bowed. Blackheart grinned, stepped forward, and slipped his arm into Johnny's. Together they strode from the ballroom, as regal and dignified as emperors. Behind them the guests began to murmur excitedly.

They rounded a corner and left the main hall, now safely out of sight. The prince stopped where he was, wobbled weakly for a moment. "Johnny," he murmured, "call Dementoad."

"Wh-" But that was all Blaze managed to get out before Blackheart's legs buckled and he started to fall.

Johnny reacted in an instant, caught him awkwardly and gently laid him out on the floor. Blaze's heart was pounding fast with panic, but he kept his cool. Having had a lot of experience with motorcycle crashes, he quickly examined Blackheart for serious physical problems: he was pale, sweaty, hot to the touch. Blaze checked his pulse and found it slow and weak, but steady. He lifted Blackheart's eyelids and noticed his pupils were dilated, all the symptoms pointing to a bad fainting spell.

Johnny leaned over the demon and began to lightly slap his cheeks. "Blackheart. Wake up. If you can hear me, do something. Squeeze my hand. Make a sound, anything. C'mon, Bee, snap out of it."

Footsteps sounded down the hall, and Blaze turned to see Mephisto emerging from one of the rooms with that blonde woman from earlier. They both looked a bit disheveled.

Johnny put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Mephisto looked up and excused himself, striding over quickly and tucking his shirt tail back into his pants. "Sorry, my secretary and I had some business to discuss. What was all that racket I heard a few minutes ago? It sounded like-" He came closer and saw his unconscious son over Johnny's shoulder. "Oh my. What happened?"

"He passed out," Blaze said in clipped sentences. "He's not responding. Call Dementoad, I think it's serious. Get over here, put my coat under his legs, help get some blood to his head. And call the doctor already, will you!"

Mephisto kneeled down beside his son and whipped out his sleek black cellular phone. He punched in numbers with one hand as he helped Johnny work. "Hi, Gene? It's Mephisto." Pause. "No, it's not Courtney this time. It's my son. He's passed out on the floor." Pause. "What happened? I don't know."

Mephisto looked up at his in-law. "What happened here, Johnny?"

"I already told you, he fainted. He, he got pissed off at the party and transformed into this beast, this huge spiky hedgehog thing I'd never seen before and-"

Mephisto looked suddenly horrified. "He showed his _true form_? Mother of Judas. _How_? He-"

Squawking on the other end of the phone interrupted him. "I know, Gene, I know. I don't know how it happened, but." Pause. "Yeah, it was a full transformation." Long pause. "Oh _ shit_." Pause. "No, I'm not panicking. Okay. Uh huh. No, I don't think so. Uh huh. Yes, _hurry_. Get here as soon as possible. Anything we should do?" Pause. "Okay. Right."

Mephisto snapped his phone shut and looked gravely at Blaze. "Keep trying to wake him up. Dementoad is on his way."

"How bad is it? Is he gonna be okay?"

"He changed form completely," the demon replied. "A full transformation takes an enormous amount of power and physical energy. It drained him so quickly that his body doesn't even have the strength to keep itself awake anymore . . . and with Blackheart already under strain from being pregnant, his body might not have enough strength to keep the baby alive."

Johnny's eyes widened in shock.

Mephisto grimly laid his hand on Blackheart's pale, clammy forehead. "He may not even have the strength to keep _himself_ alive."

_Oh God_, Johnny thought, gazing at the prince's serene, unconscious face. _And it's all my fault._

**To Be Continued...**


	7. One Bad Flashback After Another

**Chapter 7: One Bad Flashback After Another  
**

_Morningstar Manor  
Saint Valentine's Day  
(Five months earlier)_

"I can't believe you're doing this," Beelzebub grunted, hefting Johnny Blaze's semi-conscious body over his shoulder as he snuck quietly through a row of ornamental trees pruned to resemble satanic dragons. "This is, without a doubt, the dumbest and craziest idea you've ever had, if you don't mind me saying so, your highness."

"I _do_ mind, so shut up," Blackheart hissed, keeping his flashlight fixed on the grass in front of him as he led the way through the back yard of the manor. "I didn't ask for your opinion, and I'm not paying you to give me pointers on how to perfect an already perfect scheme. It'll work, trust me."

"If you say so. Ugh. This guy smells like gasoline and jelly beans. Humans are so disgusting. Are you sure you want to . . . _breed_ with this revolting creature?"

Blackheart turned to give the archdemon a serious glare, his pale eyes catching the glow of the hell-moon and shining with grim determination. "If it'll earn me my crown and keep this idiot off my back, yes. I'll do it. Now come on, before we get caught. I don't want to have to explain to my father what Johnny Blaze is doing at our house in the middle of the night."

Beelzebub (who is played by Christian Bale in this movie) did his best to keep up with the prince, creeping low along the hedgerows and sneaking through the rose garden of black and blue flowers. Halfway through it, he tripped on a pile of mulch and fell to the ground with a loud _oof!_ Blackheart's flashlight instantly zigzagged all over his fallen body.

"Bubba, you clumsy ox! Get up now, and watch where you're going! If anything happens to Blaze that impairs his ability to reproduce, I'm going to put _you_ in a coma for the next month."

"Yes, your highness."

"Hurry up, we're almost there. Stay low, and watch where you step."

The two demons crept carefully around the patio and entered the manor through one of the side doors. They cautiously avoided the main hallways as they made their way through the huge, darkened mansion, luckily encountering nobody on their journey. After hiking up several grueling flights of stairs, they reached Blackheart's room and Beelzebub gratefully tossed his heavy burden onto the prince's bed.

"There," he wheezed, standing up straight once more and popping a few vertebrae in his lower back. His face was red and puffy from the exertion. "He's all yours, your highness. Good luck mating with him. I hope you know what you're doing."

"I _do_," Blackheart snapped. "Now get out of here. This isn't a peep show."

He didn't need to say it twice; Beelzebub quietly shut the door and was gone. Blackheart locked it behind him, then turned to stare at the senseless, spellbound man lying on his bed. He pressed his back against the door and sighed, then dug in his pants pocket and pulled out a bottle of Fertillo-Max Extreme Fertility Supplements. He tapped the last four pills (out of 60, which he'd been munching down like candy all night long) into his palm and popped them in his mouth, swallowing dryly. He could already feel himself breaking out in a nervous sweat, and he started to have second thoughts.

No, the time for reconsidering was over. He'd already come this far. Turning back now would be out of the question. He had to do what he had planned to do . . . no matter how painful, humiliating and gross it was.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered to himself as he crossed the room, removing his waistcoat and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Johnny lay on the bed, eyes half open and glazed, stupefied but physically responsive. A body without a brain. The spell was working perfectly.

Blackheart grimaced disdainfully as he shucked off his pants, climbed onto the bed and began to undo Blaze's fly. This was going to be a lot different from banging random young demonesses and she-devils, he thought. This time _he_ was going to be the one getting nailed. It seemed like the ladies could handle it well enough. Hell, some of them even seemed to _enjoy_ it. It couldn't possibly be as bad as Blackheart imagined. Could it?

But it took him ten whole minutes before he could even look at Johnny's limp, exposed anatomy, and it was another five minutes before he could actually reach out and start working on getting the grotesque piece of man-flesh hardened into something useful.

Blackheart tried not to look, preferring to keep his constantly wincing face turned in the other direction. "It's okay, it's cool," he coached himself. "It's just a natural process. Humans have been doing it for centuries, it's nothing new. Nothing to puke about . . ."

But when he glanced back to see if his manual ministrations were working (and they were), he shut his eyes tightly and whined with dread. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have his enemy's nasty human penis spewing all sorts of nasty human spunk into his nice, clean, brand-new reproductive system, but there was really no other way. He had to get knocked up tonight. He was _going_ to get knocked up tonight, and tomorrow morning he was going to drag Blaze down to the San Diablo Clerk of Courts to demand a marriage license.

His father would probably have 666 consecutive heart attacks when he heard the news (_All the better_, thought Blackheart), but with Johnny's signature on the certificate, there would be no argument. The marriage would be solidified. And in a few weeks, when Blaze finally snapped out of it, Blackheart could ship him back to Earth, chill for a few months, pop out the kid, toss it in Johnny's direction, and never look back. Piece of cake. Now, if he could just get _this_ over with . . .

When Blackheart, after nearly an hour of building up his courage, finally climbed on top of Blaze, got into position, and allowed himself to be penetrated, he grimaced with a mixture of pain, shame and fear.

"Holy creeping _Christ_!" he swore, feeling as if he were trying to take a Maglite down to its base. How could women _stand_ this kind of torture? So this was what sex felt like from the other side? It was utterly sickening and painful, not in the least bit enjoyable. Maybe he wasn't doing it right or something.

He moved gingerly, trying to find a comfortable position, keeping as much of himself away from Blaze as he possibly could. Ugh, _humans_. Such vile, base, disgusting creatures! _If only they reproduced like coral, everything would be _so_ much easier_, Blackheart thought disdainfully.

He shut his eyes, wishing he was somewhere else as he began a slow rhythm. All those years of yoga really paid off at times like these. It gradually began to feel a little bit better. Almost bearable. Still not enjoyable, though. It was something he'd be glad never to do again.

Then his knee slipped on the satin covers and he came slamming down on top of Johnny's hips. The man's member slid in so deep that Blackheart went blind with pain for a few seconds. He clapped both hands over his mouth and screamed like a banshee. Apparently he'd forgotten to read that section of _Human Anatomy & Sexuality: A Reference Guide_ that discussed hymens, the bane of virgins whose only purpose was to cause a lot of pain and mess, and when he'd manifested his new set of plumbing, he'd forgotten to exclude that one little detail.

And that one little detail was now the source of the tears of agony squeezing from his tightly-clamped eyes. Blackheart was officially deflowered, and it hurt hurt _hurt_ so badly that he didn't want to move. He clenched his teeth and wanted to hit something, and when he opened up his eyes, Johnny's senseless face was the prime target.

"You fucking _bastard_!" Blackheart yelped, giving Blaze a backhand that turned his head. "You and your big stupid ugly dick! I fucking hate your miserable mortal _guts_!" He threw a punch. It landed on the man's cheek. He remained out of it. "I'm doing this for _you_, you son of a bitch!" Slap. Punch. "I should just kill you!"

He continued to beat up on Johnny until the poor guy had two black eyes, a bruised cheekbone, a bloody nose, and a busted lip. By then the pain of a little torn tissue seemed to have faded, and Blackheart wiped away his tears, lowered his fists, and resumed the task at hand.

There were times when it didn't feel so bad, brief moments where something like pleasure sent a little wave of excitement rippling through Blackheart's body, but it never seemed to last long enough. He tried to think of arousing thoughts to help himself out: the Drake sisters down at Slither's, the cheerleading squad at Hellion High, the bartender Maligna LeRue from Noire Nightclub, with those gorgeous breasts . . . It didn't work.

Still he kept at it, his hips going up and down and up and down until he grew nauseated from motion sickness. His legs were sore and he was tired and he hated the unconscious human lying beneath him more than we'll ever know, but Blackheart only wanted to do this once. If he didn't get pregnant from this act, he doubted he could ever bring himself to do it again. It had to be now. Failure was not an option.

It was a long, long time before Blaze finally came; Blackheart clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, his hair damp with sweat from a grueling hour and a half of work, and tried to resist the urge to tear away at the last minute. He didn't. He stayed where he was and let the man's seed flow into him. A sense of peace and accomplishment came over him, followed by profound disgust. He could _feel_ it in him — sickening! He remained still for another minute or two, just to be sure, before he finally, gratefully, crawled off of Johnny and collapsed onto the bed beside him.

"About fucking _time_," he panted, lifting his hips a little to keep the fluid from running out of his body. Holy Hell, what a revolting mess. Streaks of blood on the sheets, wet and sticky and slimy stuff on his thighs — his whole body felt violated and contaminated. He needed a shower. Or a garden hose.

Blackheart sighed, laying his hand over his eyes and rubbing his forehead tiredly. What a horrendous ordeal. He wondered if he would ever be able to have sex again after tonight. He could be scarred for eternity.

He lowered his arm and looked over at Blaze. And you know what? The senseless bastard had the barest hint of a smile on his face. Blackheart bristled with rage and shoved Johnny's shoulder so hard that he slid off the bed and thumped onto the floor. The demon immediately claimed his spot in the bed.

"Serves you right," he muttered. "That was the worst sex I've ever had."

And then, tired from a full evening of drugging, kidnapping, seducing and reproducing, Blackheart tucked a pillow under his hips, pulled the covers over his body, and promptly went to sleep.

He had a few nightmares that night, mostly about being raped by shemales and giving birth to litters of mutant squid-like creatures who ate him as soon as they were born, so when he woke up the next morning he was actually relieved. At least reality hadn't gotten that bad yet.

Blackheart massaged his stomach thoughtfully, wondering if his actions last night were fruitful (and half-hoping they weren't). If only there were an easier way of dragging his father off the throne and getting rid of the Ghost Rider . . . nah, if there was a better plan, Blackheart surely would have thought of it — he was _smart_. Besides, this wasn't turning out _too_ bad, if you didn't count the horrible sex. Getting his hands on the contract of San Venganza had been harder to accomplish. This whole marriage/baby thing had been a piece of cake so far.

Blackheart leaned over the side of the bed and looked down. Johnny lay where he had fallen last night, splayed out on the floor with that same brain-dead expression of nothingness plastered onto his beaten face.

"Rise and shine, 'honey'," Blackheart said with cheerful malice, throwing back the covers and using Blaze's body as a rug. "Today's a big day for both of us, and I want you looking and feeling your best when we go down to the San Diablo courthouse."

He crouched down beside Johnny and grabbed a handful of reddish-blond hair, lifting the man's head and giving it a shake. "And once you put your nice little signature on that marriage license, your fate is sealed . . . along with the throne of Nether-earth." Blackheart chuckled darkly, releasing Johnny's head. It thumped hard onto the wooden floor.

"Owww," came the dull moan.

† † †

The clerk at the counter of the Civil Licensing Department raised his eyebrows and gave the couple a long, expressionless glare. The Prince of Hell, or someone who looked a lot like him (he'd only seen the monarch in photos) was standing purposefully at the counter with an impatient scowl on his face. The man beside him looked as if he'd gotten into a really bad barfight, been taken to the hospital and pumped full of morphine, then dragged out into public and propped upright. Dried blood was crusted all over his nose and lips. His eyes and cheekbones were bruised. He had a string of drool that was about four inches long dangling from the corner of his mouth.

The clerk looked back and forth between them, then down at the blank form in his hand. "Are you sure you have the right department? This is for marriage licenses — if you want to file abuse charges you'll have to go the-"

"We're here to get married," Blackheart interrupted, dropping his elbow onto the counter and leaning in to give the clerk a dangerous look.

"Very well," the demon said, swallowing loudly. He put the form on the counter. "You'll just need to fill this out and sign and date at the bottom, then you-"

"I know the fucking process, just give me a pen."

A fancy fountain pen was handed to Blackheart. He hunched over the counter, scrawling hastily while Johnny the Zombie stood beside him and continued to drool. The clerk couldn't stop staring at that string of saliva slowwwwwly making its way downward.

A few minutes later, Blackheart reached the end of the form and scratched out his signature with a big arcing "B", followed by a jumbled line of loops and illegible waves. Then he straightened his back and handed the pen to Johnny. It fell out of his numb hand three times, and Blackheart had to physically wrap the man's fingers around the pen and direct it to the form.

"Are you sure this er, _demon_ is competent?" the clerk asked warily, giving Blaze the once-over. He sure looked awfully human . . .

"Yes," Blackheart snapped. "It's just his stupidity you're seeing. Johnny, sign your name."

"Mmrrruuhh."

"Right here. On this line. Sign it."

Blackheart watched and waited anxiously as the senseless body did his bidding; Johnny's limp hand loosely dragged out a series of shaky lines that barely resembled his name — it looked like "Iamny Flage". But it was good enough.

Blackheart snatched the paper out from under the pen just as the last "e" was drawn, and handed it to the clerk, who reviewed the form carefully. He looked up with astonishment. "Oh my, you _are_ his royal highness!"

The demon suddenly found his collar wrapped tightly in Blackheart's fist. The prince's snarling face was mere inches from his own, teeth gritted and eyes flashing dangerously. "You keep your mouth shut and get this license processed," he growled, "or else there's going to be a funeral instead of a wedding."

"Of c-course, your highness," stammered the frightened clerk. He was released, and he darted from the counter to go get the license stamped and notarized.

Blackheart smiled smugly to himself and looped his arm through Johnny's. "Well, that was easier than I thought. When do you think we should tell Dad the good news?"

". . . nngklrrg."

"Why Johnny, I believe that's the smartest thing you've said all week." And the demon prince burst into a fit of evil chuckles.

† † †

Mephisto was lounging out on the back patio, wearing sunglasses and reading an issue of that morning's _San Diablo Times_, enjoying the lovely afternoon beneath the crisp reddish-pink hellfire sky, when the doors behind him exploded open and the sound of his son's diabolical laughter filled the air.

The Devil folded his paper in his lap with a weary sigh as Blackheart, dragging some poor son of a bitch by the arm, stomped into view and thrust a piece of paper under his nose.

"I've got you now, you miserable old bag!" Blackheart sneered delightfully. "I'm getting married! See?"

Mephisto reached up and slowly pulled the sunglasses down his nose, staring blankly at his son over the rims. Totally ignoring the paper dangling before his face. "Listen, sport, this is _Daddy's_ time. I don't bother _you_ when you're out doing . . . whatever it is you do, and my free time is very limited, so why don't you come back later when-"

"Didn't you hear me?" Blackheart demanded. "I'm getting MARRIED. M-a-r-r-y-e-d, unholy matrimony, wedlocked, need I dumb it down for you any further?"

The Devil glanced at the battered piece of meat standing beside his son and winced. "I guess this is the lucky lady — uh, gentleman, right? Do I know him?"

"You don't recognize him?" said Blackheart. "It's Johnny Blaze, Dad!"

_That_ got Mephisto's attention; the old demon sat bolt upright, his sunglasses falling into his lap.

"Yes," Blackheart gloated, "I've been seeing Johnny for the past few weeks and we've fallen madly in love. He proposed to me last night and I said yes, and this morning we went and got our marriage license — your throne is as good as mine, old man! Ha ha ha haa!"

"Johnny?" Mephisto squinted hard, trying to recognize his Ghost Rider through the scabs and blood and bruises. "Judas Christ, what _happened_ to him? Did he crash his bike into Mike Tyson?"

Blackheart's maniacal grin faded when he realized that his father didn't seem to care one way or the other about the Big News. "Who _cares_ what happened to him? We're getting _married_, and by law you are now obligated to pass the throne of Nether-earth to _me_."

"Son," Mephisto sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "didn't we already go through this at San Venganza last October? I told you, if you'll just _wait_ until I'm ready to retire, you'll get the damned throne and all of the stress and responsibility that goes with it-"

"That's not good enough!" Blackheart barked. "I want a guarantee, and now I've got it." He held up the marriage license like the contract of San Venganza. "_In writing_. Your days are numbered, Dad! I know the law, and if you deny me what's rightfully mine-"

"Oh, you'll get what's coming to you, son," the Devil smirked. "But until then, married or not, _ I_ am the King of Hell _and_ your father, and you will live by _my_ rules under _my_ roof, understand?"

Blackheart's mouth fell open in shock. He was speechless, indignant.

Mephisto causally unfolded his paper and resumed reading. As an afterthought he said, "By the way, congratulations. Somehow I always knew you would end up queer."

A red wave of anger and shame washed over Blackheart's handsome face. "You old bastard!" he cursed, storming away and dragging Johnny with him. "Just you wait! You'll pay for this one way or another!"

"I'm sure I will," Mephisto murmured monotonously, turning the page and paying no mind to his son's threat.

Blackheart unleashed a frustrated snarl and disappeared through the doors with Johnny, who stumbled over the threshold, fell down, and was dragged by his adoring, swearing, grumbling fiancé the rest of the way.

† † †

Beelzebub, the lonely and socially-inept Lord of Flies who lived in a small apartment above the garage at Morningstar Manor, was already working on the wedding invitations that evening when he received a sudden and unexpected visit from the infernal prince himself. He seemed quite distraught, if the bloodshot eyes and throbbing vein in Blackheart's forehead were any indication.

"That tyrannical old fart!" he ranted, slamming the door behind himself and slumping down on the sofa. "That geriatric, power-hungry, shit-eating, possum-faced-" And so on and so forth.

Beelzebub put down the guest list he was filling out and interrupted, "I guess you told your father the good news, my lord?"

"What do _you_ think, Bubba?"

The archdemon's face was blank.

Blackheart threw his arms up in defeat. "Fuck it. Never mind. Yes, I _did_ tell my father the 'good news'."

"And?"

"He laughed at me."

"Oh no."

"Oh _yes_." Blackheart clenched his teeth and fists and toes with subdued rage. "He blew me off, Bubba. I barely got a congratulations out of him. It's like he doesn't care at all! I mean, I stole the spellbinding potion from the meanest gang of witches in-"

"Coven, sire."

"What?"

"It's a _coven_ of witches. Like a gaggle of geese, or a pack of-"

"WHATEVER. I stole that potion from the meanest bunch of witches in Nether-earth, I spent _weeks_ in the mortal world tracking down Johnny Blaze, I grew a female reproductive system, had _sex_ with a filthy human, obtained a marriage license so that I'll now be permanently _bound_ to said filthy human, and after _all that_ the only thing my old man has to say to me is 'Congratulations, I always knew you were queer'."

Beelzebub looked stunned. "I'm so sorry, your highness. Is there anything I can do?"

Blackheart shook his head and curled up into a ball. His anger seemed to have burned off by now, leaving behind a smoky haze of despair and frustration. "It's not your fault my father's a dickhead. I thought for sure he'd react to me marrying his disobedient 'pet', but . . ."

He sighed and dragged a hand through his thick black hair. He looked up at the archdemon pathetically. "What are you doing?"

"Making the guest list."

"Guest list for what?"

"The wedding, sire. We've only got a month to prepare, since you insisted upon March 15th as the day of the ceremony, and these invitations need to go out immediately if we wish to give the guests ample time to prepare for the occasion. It's going to be the biggest event in Nether-earth since Rob Halford came to visit — it'll be the wedding of the millennium!"

Blackheart looked sick to his stomach as he rose from the couch. "Perfect. That's just what I need right now — every demon in Nether-earth watching me get bound in unholy matrimony to my mortal enemy. Keep up the good work, Bubba. If I die before March 15th you can have my comic book collection."

Beelzebub perked up. "Really, your highness?"

"Gee, don't get _too_ distraught about it or anything," Blackheart snapped. "Thanks for your show of unwavering support. First my dad and now _ you_. Isn't there anyone in this fucking house who's on my side anymore?"

The archdemon didn't reply. It wasn't that he didn't have anything to say — he just didn't want to get turned into a shriveled, sulphur-saturated blue mummy. So he kept his mouth shut like his mother had told him, and Blackheart stomped out of the apartment, his pride trailing after him like a broken kite.

**~Two weeks later~**

In the bright light of the bathroom, the Prince of Demons stared at the blue dot on the home pregnancy test. He read the directions on the back of the box for the fifth time, then studied the test again. Pink dot for not pregnant, blue line for pregnant. No, wait. This was the wrong box. He put it down and grabbed the other one. Two blue lines for pregnant, one red line for not pregnant. No, this was a _dot_. Wrong box, try again.

Swearing under his breath, Blackheart stood in his large bathroom with the door locked and the contents of three at-home pregnancy tests strewn over the counter. You'd think the stupid manufacturers could come up with a simple YES and NO test instead of this confusing bullshit that requires you to have a bachelor's degree in symbology in order to understand what the hell they-

Blackheart stopped breathing as he read the directions on the back of the correct box. He looked at the test, then at the box, then at the test again. He dropped it all into the sink with a clatter.

"I'm going to have a baby."

Blackheart smiled fleetingly, nervously, then it was gone, replaced by a look of overwhelming fear. He was nineteen. The wedding was in two weeks. He was knocked up. His life was slowly spiraling out of control . . . and nobody seemed to care, not even his father.

He turned around and ran his hands through his hair, slumped against the wall. He slid down until he touched the floor, then pulled his knees to his chest and put his hands over his face, hiding briefly from the responsibility, the uncertainty, and the shame.

"_Fuck_."

† † †

The huge red hellfire sun was setting over the city of San Diablo. It was a beautiful sight, even in a place as sinful and wicked as Nether-earth. They sky was pink and orange, darkening to a rich shade of cobalt farther up. Red and black clouds streaked across the horizon, and a carpet of stars never seen by human eyes sparkled like jewels on a velvet sea.

The buildings of the great city, both modern and gothic, stood as black silhouettes against the fiery sunset. Sparks of ash from the nearby volcanoes hung like fireflies in the air, riding on the warm, smoky breeze. Blackheart sat on the balcony of the highest tower of Morningstar Manor, taking in the macabre yet beautiful sight with listless blue eyes. He'd seen evenings like this thousands of times, but this one was different. The sun was setting on his last day as a bachelor — by this time tomorrow he would be married.

It would be so easy to turn back now, before it was too late, and the thought tempted him now more than ever. He could almost say the hell with all of his careful planning and work. He could cancel the wedding, burn the marriage license, and one small pill would take care of the thing growing inside of him.

He wanted to do it. He wished he could do it. If he had been braver or hadn't wanted to be king so badly, he would have done it. In a heartbeat. It meant nothing to him: Blaze, marriage, the baby he carried. These things were all worthless by comparison to his _true_ desire.

Blackheart stared down at the city between his polished black boots. Every demon in San Diablo must have heard the news by now, despite efforts to keep the wedding a secret. What would they think if they knew he was marrying a human? What would they think if they knew he was carrying a human's child? Would he ever be able to walk down the street with adoring citizens groveling in his shadow, or would he be scorned forever and unable to show his face in public? Was he willing to damage his reputation in order to be king? Was all of this worth it? What if he was making a huge mistake? Would he ever be able to turn back after tomorrow?

The wind scattered Blackheart's hair into unruly tendrils and caused his eyes to water. He wiped them on his sleeve, leaving streaks of muddy eyeliner smeared across his cheeks. He grabbed the wrought iron railing and pulled himself to his feet.

_Fuck it_, he thought. He was going to go through with it. He wasn't afraid of his father's wrath or Heaven's fury . . . and he wasn't going to be afraid of matrimony. Or Johnny Blaze. Or his future.

Blackheart gazed down at San Diablo and smiled thinly to himself. "Someday," he murmured, "This world will belong to me."

† † †

Pale blue eyes fluttered open, seeing nothing but a foggy haze of blurs at first. He blinked slowly, the images beginning to clear. His head hurt. His mouth was dry. He felt sick to his stomach and he was cold, but he was oddly comfortable.

Blackheart sat up with some difficulty, grunting softly in his throat. He was in his bed, in his old room. He was dressed in his pajamas, the black silk ones with little bats printed all over them. Rob Zombie and The Misfits glared at him from posters on the wall. The lights were out, the room dark and quiet. The curtains were drawn, but a bright sliver of light shone between them; it was day. He was confused, and for a moment he wondered if it had all been a dream.

Something moved beside him in the bed. A body. The figure rolled over, turning a familiar face toward Blackheart, whose heart sank with realization: not a dream. He looked down at his belly, at the lump protruding from under his pajama shirt. No. Definitely not a dream.

Johnny blinked sleepily and opened his eyes. He was still dressed in his eyeliner-stained dress shirt and slacks from the party. He looked awful, as if he'd been awake for days. There were dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks were pallid and his eyes dull, he was in desperate need of a shave, and his untidy mop of reddish hair needed a good hard scrubbing. His blue-green eyes at last focused on Blackheart and he popped up like bread in a toaster, suddenly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

"You're awake," he uttered in disbelief.

"Yeah, and I feel like sh-"

He was cut off by Johnny throwing his arms around him and gripping him tightly. Blackheart was speechless, now even more confused and slightly embarrassed by this unexpected show of affection.

"I've been so scared for you," Johnny said in a breathless rush, one hand sifting through the demon's black hair. "It's been almost three days since you went on the rampage. I swear, if I'd known your transformation would put your life in danger, I never would have egged you on like that. The doc didn't know why you weren't waking up. He ran every test you could imagine and got nothing. He thought you might never regain consciousness. Your dad's been worried sick about you and hasn't stopped chain-smoking for two straight days, and the baby . . ."

Blaze trailed off and pulled back so that he could look at Blackheart. The expression on his face was sullen and resigned, and for the briefest second the demon was sure his baby had died as a result of his transformation. Guilt and terror unlike anything Blackheart had ever felt suddenly tore into his heart, more painful than any regret, more profound than any fear. He had no idea why; the child meant nothing to him. He'd be better off without it . . . so why did he suddenly feel like bursting into tears of anguish?

But then Johnny smiled. "It's a boy."

Blackheart stopped breathing. Stared. "What."

"The baby. It's a boy. We're gonna have a son." He broke into a smile. Tears of joy hung in his eyelashes.

Blackheart's lips parted in shock. "Then it's . . . He's alive?"

"Yes," Blaze said, "alive and okay. Dementoad did an examination while you were unconscious, and . . . and yeah! It's gonna be a boy! Man, I thought Mephisto was gonna have a stroke when he found out. I've never seen him so happy before."

"You've got to be kidding."

"No way. That's the God's-honest truth. You should have seen him, Black. It was like he won the lottery or something. He started going on about 'his grandson' and . . . And then, when you didn't wake up, he just sorta crumpled. He's torn up, even Courtney can't make him feel better." Johnny grinned giddily. "But he's gonna be so happy when he sees you're-"

"Where have _you_ been, Johnny?"

The man's grin faded, replaced by a mature, concerned frown. "I've been right here. With you."

Blackheart's eyebrows arched with surprise. "The whole time?"

"Yeah. Wide awake and watching over you . . . Except for just now. I hadn't slept in so long, y'know, I was starting to hallucinate. I feel kinda bad about that. Hey, do you want anything? Glass of water or something?"

Blackheart nodded numbly and Johnny leaped off the mattress to go get it. The demon sat quietly in his bed, feeling as if he were hallucinating himself. There were emotions blustering around in his dark heart that had never been there before, and they had just declared war on his mind.

Half of him truly wanted to care, and the other half was violently opposed to anything that even remotely resembled compassion or sympathy. So the baby was a boy? Great, just what he needed: someone plotting to take the throne away from him in 2,000 years, just like he was doing to his father now. But having a son might actually be useful. Cheap insurance, just in case something happened to Blackheart. The kid could be like his second-in-command, his vice president of sorts.

"No," Blackheart muttered to himself. No, he wasn't going to get suckered into parenthood by a trick like that. This kid was going to be a nuisance, if not a wretched pain in the ass.

Blackheart recalled the days of his youth, spent finding as many ways as possible to disobey his father and drive him crazy in the process. He recalled all the furniture he'd destroyed playing cricket in the house, all of the servants and butlers he'd killed with his sulphuric touch of death, all of the screaming fights he'd had with his father, then wrecking his car when he got old enough to drive.

Skipping school, doing drugs, having sex with nameless she-devils, sneaking into the mortal world to raise Hell . . . if Blackheart's son turned out anything like him, there was no way was this kid going to be easy to deal with. The prince was filled with a sense of inescapable dread and despair. He felt like a rat trapped in a maze called Parenthood, and every turn he made just led him closer to insanity.

But wait, it would be _Johnny's_ job to take care of the kid. It was what they'd agreed to, after all. So what if Blackheart missed out on those rare moments of childhood sweetness. Big deal. The cons heavily outweighed the pros. He didn't care about seeing the little larva take his first step, or saying his first word, or . . . or showing Dada his first crayon drawing of the whole family, smiling stick figures standing together with the family dog . . .

Without warning, images of a toddling little boy came unbidden to Blackheart's mind, dressed in overalls and untied sneakers, a human child with dark hair and pale skin, a laughing mouth and green-blue eyes. Half him. Half Johnny. And he actually wasn't ugly. The youngster ran toward Daddy, wrapped his short, chubby arms around Blackheart's neck and held onto him, warm and soft. "I love you, Dada," he chirped. "Look, I drawed you a picture for Father's Day-"

Then came reality. Sweet, merciful reality.

"Oh . . . _God_!" Blackheart screeched, slapping both hands over his eyes and banishing the pastel-colored shojo-manga daydream from his brain. Where had that abhorrent vision come from? Surely not his imagination — Blackheart wasn't _that_ evil. This pregnancy was making him imagine things. Things he didn't want to see. Things that were too horrible for even the Prince of Hell to withstand.

_That does it,_ thought Blackheart. He wasn't going to put up with this shit anymore. He wanted an abortion. No, that would destroy Johnny. Wait, what did _he_ care about Johnny? Fuck him. _He_ wasn't the one pregnant. But if he got rid of the baby, Johnny would never leave him alone, and Blackheart had come this far already; five months down, four to go . . .

"I'm back," Johnny called cheerfully, stepping into the room. He handed the glass of water to Blackheart, who stared up at him hollowly and didn't move. The prince looked rough, as if he'd aged five years in the past three days . . . and the years hadn't been kind to him.

Johnny frowned. "You okay, Bee?"

"You must want to kill me."

"What?"

"I screwed you over, Johnny. I totally dicked you out of any happiness you might have had."

Blaze sat down on the side of the bed. "Huh? What are you talking about? You haven't done anything to me."

"Uh, _hello_? Have you been dead from the neck up these past four months? In case you've forgotten, Mr Blaze, I kidnapped you, drugged you, raped you, forced you into wedlock, and you're telling me you're not the least bit _angry_?"

"Well." Johnny shifted his position. "I was at first . . . you know, after the wedding, but ever since the baby — uh, our son, I mean — came into the picture, everything's changed."

Blackheart closed his eyes and shook his head. "I will never understand humans. You can ruin a man's life, take away his freedom, but give him a kid and he laughs at his own misery. I don't get it. Why?"

Johnny was silent a moment, thinking of some way to explain it.

"Well," he said at last, "we humans live short and shitty lives for the most part. So we're generally nice to each other because nobody wants to be treated like crap. We try to get along because fighting with each other sucks and it takes a toll on our already brief lifespans. And since we're not immortal, like you demons are, our children are our future. They make us feel happy, give our lives meaning. We care about them and look after them, and teach them to be nice to others while hoping that their lives will be longer than ours. It's like a process, you see. A never-ending cycle."

Blackheart's blank expression indicated that nothing had gotten through.

"Er. Kids are fun to be around and people are proud to have them. We like them and look forward to the responsibility of raising them. "

"Only humans," Blackheart muttered. "Children are considered a curse in Nether-earth, did you know that? We demons live forever, so we're not driven by a stupid-animal urge to procreate. The only purpose children have here is to take their parents' place if one of them is killed. Not to fulfill some bullshit emotional desire."

"Spoken like a true kid-hater."

"I'm not cut out for this baby business, Johnny. You and I both know that."

"Maybe you can learn."

"I don't _want_ to learn."

"Well I'm not raising our son by myself. I expect you to help out."

Blackheart crossed his arms. "And why should I?"

Johnny raised his left hand, showing off the ring that matched the one the demon wore. "Because that's what being married is about. Sharing responsibility."

"Really?" said Blackheart smugly. "I thought it was about being in love."

"That helps."

The prince glowered moodily, but seemed to have lost the desire to argue. Taking his silence as a cue, Johnny scooted closer to Blackheart and smiled.

"C'mon, Bee. Cheer up. It's not as bad as you think."

"How do _you_ know? You have any kids lately?"

"Uh, no, but-"

"Have you ever baby-sat kids or been forced to be around them for more than 24 hours?"

"No, but I-"

"Then you don't know _ shit_, Johnny. You and I are going to be the worst parents ever."

"Aw, come on. It's just a baby. How hard could it be to take care of one?"

"Famous last words," Blackheart grumbled, chasing down his pessimistic forecast with a gulp of water.

Johnny shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. We won't know it until we try it."

"Wow. That makes me feel a lot better, knowing that nothing is certain and our lives are going to revolve around meeting the needs of a screaming little lump of meat four months from now."

"Four months?" Johnny echoed, looking surprised.

"Yeah. Dementoad says I'm due sometime in November. I was aiming for October 31st, you know, because every demon wants their kid born on-"

"November? Really? Shit, Blackheart! We need to start thinking of names for the baby."

"Why?"

"Why? Because that's . . . It's, it's just what you do. You think of names for your baby, so you have something to call it when it's born."

Blackheart pursed his lips thoughtfully. "How about 'Bane'? Or maybe 'Life-wrecker'? You read books, Johnny; what's a synonym for 'failure'?"

"Oh, ha ha. You're a hoot."

"I'm not joking. I'm being serious."

A sly grin came to Johnny's face. "Well," he said, "I don't really care what we name the baby . . . as long as it's not 'Adolf'."

Blackheart's eye twitched for a moment. Then he started laughing.

Maybe this parenthood thing could work out . . . but only if Johnny were around to keep him smiling. Alone, it just couldn't be done.

**To be Continued...**


	8. Going Away

**Chapter 8: Going Away**

Johnny had fallen into a routine. He'd wake up at seven o'clock every morning and try to roll out of bed without disturbing Blackheart, who usually stayed buried beneath the sheets for several more hours. It didn't matter how much sleep Johnny had gotten (or lost because of the demon's constant tossing, turning, mumbling, twitching or snoring) — waking up at seven o'clock was something he'd always done, even as a teenager. You can't work in the carnival all your life and _not_ be a morning person.

He'd tiptoe quietly into the closet and pull on yesterday's pair of coveralls, then sneak down to the bathroom at the end of the hallway and have a little 'me' time (a hands-on activity, naturally). The bathroom was far enough away that he wouldn't wake anyone up if he got noisy. Blackheart was vicious when it came to getting his ten hours of solid, undisturbed sleep.

Afterward, Johnny would head down to the garage, tinker with the Hellcycle for an hour or so, then let Zarathos off the leash and go for a ride around San Diablo. Nether-earth's capital city had some great roads, and it was especially pleasant in the morning before the traffic got bad. Johnny would cruise north to the volcanoes and then head west along the coast of the Satanic Ocean, then loop back and tear up some infernal sand in the great eastern desert. He'd complete the circuit by riding west again and then turning south for Morningstar Manor. His home.

These morning rides were good way for Johnny to clear his mind and prepare himself for the day ahead. It was a form of meditation, and probably the only thing that kept him from going stark raving bonkers in a backward, crazy place like Nether-earth. But while he was away from Blackheart, Johnny's mind would wander back to his days on Earth, his _real_ home, to a time before the demon prince had entered his life. He thought about everything had left behind (it wasn't much), and tried — without success — to recall those last few days of freedom before Blackheart's spell had turned him into a vegetable. And then a husband. And a father. But it was no use. Those days were nothing but blank, empty gaps in his memory.

But Johnny remembered the days before that, just as he remembered Earth itself, with its blue skies and green grass and white clouds; the place where the air was clear and cool, where sunlight was yellow and warm, where trees weren't constantly on fire and birds instead of bats twittered songs in the air; that place of rainbows and cheeseburgers, hard-working country folk and big loud classic cars, rock n' roll and bikinis, Christmas and apple pies . . .

The more Johnny thought about home, the more he missed it. And the more he missed it, the more he thought about going back. The way Johnny saw it, if he was willing to commit to this relationship 100 percent and raise his son with Blackheart, he had to prepare to live out the rest of his days in the underworld. It wasn't going to be easy. He doubted he would ever stop missing the beauty of his own world. But Nether-earth was where his family was, and that made it home enough for Johnny.

Since it seemed that he was going to settle down at last, there were things that needed to be done, goodbyes to be said to his former life. There were people who deserved to know that he would never be coming back. He had to return to Earth one last time, finish things once and for all, then leave it behind him like a long stretch of open highway.

Johnny made up his mind one particular morning as he pulled back into the garage and parked his bike. In the shower he rehearsed his explanation, and by the time he came down for breakfast, he had it all worked out.

"I have to go back," he stated firmly, sliding into his chair.

Sitting across the kitchen table from him, Blackheart did a double take and started choking on his bran flakes. "What?"

"I have to go to the human world, just for a little while," Johnny explained, his fingers dancing anxiously on his coffee cup. "If I'm going to live down here, there's loose ends I need to tie up back on Earth. Stuff I need to pack."

Blackheart pushed his cereal bowl aside and stared at the man as if he were crazy. "You can't just up and _leave_; I'm six months pregnant!" He slid his chair back from the table and pointed both hands at the rather cute potbelly stretching out his Black Sabbath t-shirt. "I'm in no condition to be abandoned! What if I need you?"

"I'm not abandoning you, Black. Besides, your dad will be here to keep an eye on you, and Dementoad-"

"Yeah _right_. You think I trust either of them? You're the only honest person in Hell, Johnny, aside from Beelzebub, but he's even dumber than you are. I think."

Johnny made a face that looked exactly like this: ¬_¬

Perhaps feeling a bit guilty, Blackheart softened his tone a bit and shyly ducked his head. His hair was still ruffled from sleep, he hadn't yet put on his "ink" (i.e., eyeliner) , and dressed in a pair of baggy sweatpants, he looked every bit like a moping teenager. "I need you _here_. You're the only person I can talk to, I mean _seriously_ talk to, not just shout at or threaten."

That brought a grin to Johnny's face. It almost sounded like Blackheart was starting to like him. "I won't be gone for long. Just a week or so. You won't even notice I'm not here."

"I don't want you going back to Earth, Johnny. What if something happens to you while you're there?"

"Then I'll deal with it. Black, I have to go. I'm running outta clothes, for one thing. I've only got one set of pants left, and I'm tired of hitting Beeves up for trousers."

"Well why didn't you say so? Just steal my dad's credit card like I do and go wild down at the mall-"

"No, you don't understand-"

"-or we could even call in some tailors to get your measurements-"

"Blackheart."

"- then you can wear whatever you-"

"_Blackheart_."

The demon trailed off. He looked desperate and worried.

Johnny said gently, "It's not like you to bribe me. What's wrong? Why are you so scared of me leaving?"

"I'm not scared," Blackheart glowered. "I'm concerned."

"Why are you 'concerned' then?"

"Because . . . I'm _ concerned_ that if you go to Earth you'll never want to come back."

Johnny slowly sat back in his chair as the realization sunk in. A smile began to grow on his face. "Why wouldn't I come back?"

"I don't know." The demon shrugged loosely. "When you get there, it might be easy to remember how good you once had it."

"_Good_? Bee, I was a homeless serial killer. There's nothing in my old life that I wasn't willing to walk away from . . . or be dragged away from. At least here I've got a home and a family."

"Yeah, trapped in wedlock with the Devil's knocked-up son."

"Hey, I've gotten over it. It doesn't bother me anymore."

"You're lying."

"No way. I'm happier here."

Blackheart cocked a thick black eyebrow and eyed Blaze suspiciously. "You mean you like it better in this smoky shithole than on your nice green Earth? Even _I_ like your world better than here, Johnny, and I'm the son of the Devil. I wasn't kidding when I told you I didn't want to go back — so tell me, honestly, you aren't going to miss your world?"

Johnny swallowed dryly, pinned to the spot by Blackheart's piercing blue eyes. "No," he confessed. "I'm gonna miss it every damn day. I doubt I'll ever stop thinking about it, or dreaming about it . . . But I've got obligations. I've got responsibilities. And hell, at least I'm _somebody_ down here."

"Oh yeah?" Blackheart muttered. "Who?"

"Your husband."

The prince shook his head. "Not for real, you aren't, thanks to me and that stupid spell I put you under."

"We can pretend."

"Okay. I'll pretend we're really married if _you_ pretend to take a trip to Earth. There, problem solved."

"Blackheart . . ."

"JOHNNY."

They stared at each other from across the kitchen table. Then Johnny reached over and put his hand on top of Blackheart's. He tried to pull away but Johnny didn't let him — he held on. "I'll come back," he said insistently. "You don't have to worry about me running off, believe me. I wanna be here with you . . . and our son. You have to trust me. That's what it means to be married. You've gotta trust."

"I _do_ trust you, Johnny," grumbled Blackheart. "I just don't trust that stupid dick of yours."

". . . You think I'm gonna _cheat_ on you?"

"Why not? It'd be easy to do — I wouldn't even know it if you did it, and didn't you leave behind that sleazy girlfriend of yours? I bet she'll be waiting for you on a street corner like the-"

"She's not sleazy."

"Johnny."

"She's not _that_ sleazy."

"Sting wrote her theme song — I know you've heard it."

"That was a coincidence."

"The lyrics don't lie, John. Any woman named Roxanne is a mega-whore and you know it."

"Blackheart," Johnny sighed weakly, "give it a rest, would you? Me and Roxanne are through. It just didn't work out between us, you know that. Hell, you made _sure_ of that. Whatever feelings we had for each other are in the past, and that's where they're staying."

"Well, time has a funny way of catching up when you run into old flames," Blackheart muttered, finally worming his hand from Johnny's grasp and crossing his arms.

Blaze shook his head sadly. "Don't you have any faith in me?"

"I have faith in Zarathos," said Blackheart. "It's the human weakness _I_ have trouble trusting." He fell silent, then sighed heavily after a few long moments. "Fine. Go to Earth. I don't care what you do up there, just as long as you come back."

"This means a lot to me, Blackheart. Thank you."

The prince grumbled under his breath as Johnny scooted his chair back and walked to the other side of the table.

"I'll be back in no time. I promise," said Blaze confidently. Then he leaned down and pressed an unexpected kiss to Blackheart's pale cheek. The demon recoiled as if he'd just been pinched, and glared up at Johnny with flustered embarrassment. The man gave him a wink and then disappeared to go get his bike ready for travel.

"Humans," Blackheart muttered the word as if he were naming a nasty strain of sexually transmitted fungus. He slouched in his chair and paused, looked around to make sure he was alone, then touched his fingertips to his cheek. He could still feel Johnny's lips, soft and warm. It brought back memories of that day at Slaughter Stadium, when Blaze had pulled Blackheart into his arms and pressed his mouth to the demon's in a passionate Last Kiss, his tongue-

"Nope," said Blackheart sharply, interrupting the memory as he rose from his chair (not quite as fast as he would have liked). "Not going to happen," he told himself. No way was he going to let himself get carried away by sentimental feelings. He was a rogue, a lone wolf, a wild stallion who needed nothing and was tamed by no one. He wasn't going to get attached to anyone, especially not a worthless human being.

But Blackheart couldn't deny that deep down, somewhere in the darkest part of his wicked heart, a small piece of him was beginning to care about Johnny Blaze. _Really_ care. Care so much it hurt to be away from him.

_Codependency_, thought Blackheart. _I'm only feeling like this because of my son_-

"The baby," he corrected himself. "The fetus. The thing." He had to be careful. He didn't want to get attached to his unborn child any more than he wanted to have sex with Johnny again. Once had been enough.

Blackheart placed a hand on his aching back and rubbed the other over his face. "Three more months," he mumbled. "I'll never make it."

† † †

Johnny had only crossed over between worlds once, but due to the circumstances of his passing he had no recollection of making the journey. Apparently it was a bit more complicated than just driving through a tollbooth and paying a fee.

He had packed a few essentials into Grace's saddlebags and put on his leathers, then Mephisto's limousine and two black SUVs had escorted him down the long road that ran east through the desert. The landscape was barren and bleak, a dusty waste where thunder always rumbled overhead and dirt devils whipped the red sand and crackly shrubs across the parched terrain.

Johnny felt a thrilling sense of excitement about seeing good ol' Earth again. He'd been gone for almost half a year — even his die-hard fans must have forgotten about him by now. Good, that would make things a little easier once he got there. And if he kept a low profile, he could clear out his studio apartment in a day or two and spend the rest of his visit enjoying the Earth one last time. He smiled to himself and gave the engine a little more throttle, slowly pulling ahead of the long black limo.

Unseen behind the heavily tinted windows, Blackheart sat across from Mephisto and Beelzebub and fiddled with the pocketwatch that Jack the Ripper had given him for his eighteenth birthday (at the turn of the twentieth century). An etching on the back of it read: _Time, Save Death's, Is On No-One's Side._

The watch spun in circles on its twisted silver chain, and Blackheart stared at it blankly. The silence between the three demons was almost palpable until Mephisto finally decided to break it.

"How ya feeling, boy?"

Blackheart shrugged one shoulder. "Fine."

"Oh. That's good." Pause. "So how's my grandson these days? He kicking at all?"

"No," Blackheart growled. "Do you want me to be even more uncomfortable than I already am?"

"I was only asking."

"Why? Because you _ care_?"

"Of course."

Blackheart curled his lip in a sneer. "Then you're an even bigger old fool than I thought you were."

"There's nothing wrong with caring about someone, son," Mephisto said gently, his hands clasped over the skull of his cane. "You should try it sometime."

The silver watch continued to spin. "No thanks. I've got better ways of wasting my time."

Mephisto narrowed his eyes at his son, studying his angry, moody demeanor. "You're upset about Johnny leaving, aren't you?"

Blackheart snorted haughtily. "Wow, did you come up with that all on your own?"

"I know you're worried about him, Blackie, but you can't hide behind your anger forever. Demons are born with feelings, too." He bowed his head. "Though I sometimes wish we weren't. It makes things so difficult for us. I remember when your mother died. I cried for years."

"Only because she took out that statue of you in the town square with a Holy Hand Grenade." The prince grinned snidely. "Now she's up in Heaven, strumming a harp and giving you the finger. I bet that makes you all warm and fuzzy, huh."

"Your mother was always a rebel, but that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say, son, is that it's not impossible for demons to fall in love with humans."

"Oh, Judas Christ, Dad-"

"We're entirely capable of it, you know. It happens all the-"

"I don't want to talk about this."

"Maybe we should. You seem to be-"

"We're here," Beelzebub eagerly interrupted. He hated being in the middle of these father-son arguments. Bystanders usually ended up dead.

The limo slowed to a stop in the middle of the road and parked. Mephisto stared hard at Blackheart. "One of these days," he muttered, "you're gonna look back on all the time you wasted and wish you had listened to your heart. I know I do."

Blackheart glowered and opened his door, stepping unsteadily out into the windy desert. To the west, San Diablo was now nothing more than a cluster of shadowed buildings on the far horizon. To the east a massive black wall stretched over the land as far as the eye could see, cutting across the road and disappearing over dry, cracking mountains. Thunder growled overhead and the purple clouds above churned angrily, practically ready to send down a tornado at any second.

Blackheart slammed the car door shut and slipped his watch back into his pocket. He was dressed in a long black coat to conceal his 'delicate condition', but it was still obvious to anyone who saw him that he was looking a bit rounder than usual.

He spied Johnny a few yards away, talking with one of the demons from the SUVs. He was being briefed about crossing over, given a passport and some waivers to sign, and then wished good luck. The black-suit-wearing demon turned and spoke with two other similar-looking demons — they were the gate keepers — who strode to the black wall on either side of the road, and placed one hand against the dark rock. All was ready.

Johnny, straddling his bike, tucked his passport into his leather jacket and raised his head to see Blackheart striding across the pavement toward him. He smiled, but the prince didn't return it; he stopped at talking-distance from Blaze and stared at Grace's shiny chrome exhaust pipes in silence.

"Well," said Johnny, "this is it."

"Yeah."

Johnny scratched his nose awkwardly. "Well I, uh, guess I'll see you in about a week."

"Time passes differently here, you know."

"Oh, right. The guy just told me that. There's an equation to it, something about dividing Earth minutes by this crazy decimal number, but I don't know how I'm gonna keep track of-"

Blackheart reached out and grasped Johnny's wrist tightly, then pressed his pocketwatch into the man's hand. He stared at the unexpected gift with surprise.

"It's set to Nether-earth time," the demon mumbled. "The date is there on the side, so you'll always know what time it is here. You'll need to wind it every twelve hours. It's old."

Johnny turned the timepiece over in his hand, admiring it. "Black, I . . ."

"I'm not giving it to you. I want it back."

"Of course. I'll take good care of it."

Blackheart seemed satisfied and nodded crisply. "Good. Well, then. Have a nice trip." And he turned to go.

"Blackheart."

He stopped. Turned.

Johnny was gazing at him, his red hair tossed by the winds and his eyes deep with emotion. "Is that any way to say goodbye to your husband?"

Blackheart held his breath for a moment, then let it out in a long, quiet sigh. His father's words echoed through his mind: _One of these days, you're gonna look back on all the time you wasted and wish you had listened to your heart. I know I do._

"You're right," he murmured.

He stepped up to Johnny and placed his hand on the man's shoulder, leaning his face so close that their noses almost touched. Johnny felt the demon's tight round belly press against his body, and he closed his eyes expectantly, waiting for the kiss.

. . . But it never came.

"Goodbye, Johnny," whispered Blackheart, and slowly pulled away.

Blaze opened his eyes and saw the prince walking away from him, back toward the limo. Mephisto and Beelzebub were standing beside the vehicle, collars raised against the dusty wind. Thunder rumbled loudly above, and perhaps it was a good thing . No one could hear the sound of a mortal heart breaking.

"Mr Blaze," called one of the gate-keepers. "We're ready, sir."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Johnny slipped the watch into the pocket of his leather jacket and kicked his bike to life. He looked up at the black wall straight ahead, and suddenly Earth didn't seem so important anymore.

Giving one last hopeful glance toward the limo and seeing no sign of Blackheart, Johnny revved the engine three times and let off the clutch. He roared toward the wall, speeding up as he approached. Upon impact there was a flash of dark blue light; man and motorcycle became a black shadow, and passed through the wall as if it were liquid.

"Crossing successful," said one of the gate-keepers, removing his tattooed hand from the wall. "He's through."

Mephisto nodded sullenly and forced a thin smile. "Good. Let's hope he makes it back okay."

In the limo, Blackheart stared through the window where he had watched Johnny Blaze, the first mortal he had ever cared about enough to love, disappear. He leaned his forehead against the glass and kept staring at the wall, even as the limo pulled away and it disappeared behind them in a dusty cloud.

_One of these days, you're gonna look back on all the time you wasted and wish you had listened to your heart. I know I do._

† † †

He'd been speeding toward a solid wall of rock, then he was hit with a darkness that seemed to go straight down his throat, into his ears, his eyes, his nose, seep through his skin and eat him alive. The darkness kept pouring into him like water, drowning him. He couldn't breathe. And then it pulled away as it poured its last torrent into him, and suddenly Johnny Blaze was riding down Interstate 20 in broad piercing daylight.

"Arrghhhh!" he howled, throwing one arm over his eyes. After so many months living in the dim, dusky light of Nether-earth, the sun of the mortal world was as bright as the face of God Himself. Johnny's eyes watered, trying to quench the stabbing, prickly pain that left orange and yellow splotches on the backs of his eyelids.

A blasting horn suddenly cut through the hot air, and Blaze lowered his arm to see the grille of a massive 18-wheeler flying toward him at 80 miles an hour. The sunlight reflected off of the chrome and sent shockwaves of pain through Johnny's aching pupils, straight into his brain. He let out a scream as he reflexively shut his eyes. The horn blared again, the loudest sound in all creation. He could hear the squealing of tires and the sputtering machine-gun howl of a Jake Brake as the big rig tried to slow down.

He may have been blind as a bat, but Johnny Blaze knew how to ride a motorcycle without his eyes. He gunned the throttle and pulled to the right. He felt a rush of air smash into him like a wave, and the drop in pitch as the semi's blaring horn passed him. He'd made it. Johnny dared to crack his eyes open in time to see a dry, grassy median.

But he didn't see the drain culvert.

Grace's front tire thudded into the metal grate, the back end lifting off the ground and flipping forward. Johnny went sailing over the handlebars in a classic Flying-W, both arms stretched out in front of him, yowling like a crazed bobcat.

He did one and a half somersaults through the air before he landed in the dirt. He heard the crunch of bones and steel, and before he even felt the pain, he realized that he and Grace had both broken something. He rolled a few more times and mowed the grass with his face before he came to a complete stop.

Grace's front tire spun forlornly in the air. The dust slowly began to settle on the worst wipeout Johnny had ever had in his life. He lay on his side, blinking in the piercing sunlight until he could finally keep his eyes open for five whole seconds. Then he rolled over onto his stomach, the pain suddenly agonizing and fiery as it raced through every limb of his body. His head lolled loosely, _too_ loosely. He could barely breathe and he tasted blood. His insides hurt like hell.

And then, like a merciful angel, Zarathos rose up from Johnny's soul and engulfed his mangled body in flames. The Ghost Rider sat up, snapping his broken neck back into alignment. With an annoyed grumble, he opened his jacket, reached under his shirt, and set all three of his fractured ribs with a few quick motions. He twisted his knee around so that it fit in the socket again, popped his dislocated shoulder back in place, and took the time to scout through the grass and dirt to find any missing teeth. Now fully mended, the Rider stood with a grunt, paying no mind to the burning grass beneath him. He strode over to the Hellcycle and repaired it with the same crude precision he had used on himself, then straddled the bike and let it thunder to life, belching flames and purring like a dragon.

The Rider idled for a few moments, looking down both sides of the desolate interstate, trying to decide which way to go. Through the demon's eyes, Johnny saw a road sign that read WEATHERFORD 12 MILES. _That way_, he thought, and the Ghost Rider pointed the front wheel in that direction. Gravel flew underneath the tires of flame, and the Hellcycle shot down the interstate, heading east toward Weatherford, Texas.

† † †

Johnny took back control of his body once he neared civilization, though the Rider seemed reluctant to give up his position and Johnny had to use more energy than usual to put the disagreeable entity back in his place. The demon half of Johnny seemed unhappy to be on Earth, though he couldn't imagine why. _This_ was where all the action was.

He relaxed as he cruised down the interstate at a comfortable 75 miles an hour, and sucked in a lungful of air . . . and very nearly choked.

"Jeez!" he hacked, rubbing his nose and sniffing. Something smelled bad. Maybe there was roadkill nearby. Whatever it was, it _stunk_. Johnny tried to ignore the odor and rode onward down the highway.

The sun was beginning to set as he entered Fort Worth. The fetid smell still lingered, growing thicker as he took the exit ramp off the interstate and into the heart of the city. Maybe the stink was stuck in his nose, or maybe it was his upper lip. At a red light Johnny took a second to give his armpits the sniff test, but it wasn't him. It was as if the city itself stunk.

_Whatever_, Blaze thought, the bright lights of a fast food chain catching his eye. _Ah man, _real_ food!_

He pulled into the first grease pit he came to and ordered a double cheeseburger with bacon, fries, and a large milkshake. He parked his bike on the curb and tore into his burger with gusto. He'd chewed it all of two times before a disgusted look came over his face and he spat it out.

"God _damn_!" he cried, staring down at the greasy burger in his hand. It looked appetizing enough. But it smelled foul, and it tasted like it had been sitting at the bottom of a dumpster for a week.

He tried the fries with the same result. Nothing but crusty, oily sticks of wood. Even his milkshake tasted rancid. What was going on? The air stunk, the food tasted awful, Zarathos was acting all crabby and twitchy . . . even the atmosphere made Johnny's skin crawl. He felt dirty, like he was swimming in a sea of other people's sweat and body odor. He'd never noticed what a filthy place this was, and it made him suddenly realize how clean it had been back in San Diablo. There weren't newspapers and coffee cups clogging the gutters there, no broken beer bottles or overflowing trashcans in the alleyways, no crushed soda cans or food wrappers or cigarette butts or vulgar graffiti to be seen.

Johnny let his shoulders slump. His vision of Earth had been an illusion. Either that or he'd been living in Nether-earth for too long. _I've become more demon than man_, he thought sadly.

Blackheart's face flashed through his mind, and Johnny suddenly gasped. "Oh no-"

He reached into his pocket and drew out the watch that Blackheart had lent him. The glass face was cracked, the second hand permanently stopped. It was silent. Silent and broken.

"Shit," cursed Blaze softly, cradling the timepiece in his hand. "Blackheart's gonna kill me for this . . . if he ever speaks to me again."

Thoroughly disappointed and feeling quite depressed, Johnny stuffed his food back into the bag and tossed it to the first bum he passed. He was gone before the guy could even wave his hand in thanks. The good deed made Blaze feel a little bit better, but it did nothing to repair the heartbreak he was feeling.

It was beginning to grow dark as Johnny rolled down the familiar alley that also doubled as his driveway. He cut Grace's engine and broke the padlock on the downstairs garage, then rolled her through the double doors. Everything still seemed to be in its place, Johnny noted. He couldn't help but feel like a stranger in his own home.

He entered the lift and rode up to the second floor, where his studio apartment lay. Blaze slid the cage back and looked around. All was dark and quiet. It appeared just as he'd left it. Burn marks and jagged splinters in the floor marked the scene where he and Blackheart had sparred, back when they had been enemies.

_It seems like so long ago_, he thought, staring at the broken wood. _Who woulda thought I'd end up married to that crazy kid?_

Johnny smiled to himself and decided that he'd cut this "vacation" short and return to San Diablo a few days early. It was for the best, and Blackheart surely would have cooled off by then. _And when I get back, I'm gonna tell him how much I_-

Johnny's train of thought was interrupted when he spied something odd sitting in the middle of the living room floor. He approached slowly, his boots scarcely making a sound. The only light to be seen came through the windows from the streetlamp outside, but Blaze could see just fine in the dark. For the first time that day his eyes didn't feel like shriveling up and turning to dust.

He stopped a few paces from the object and stared.

It was a pie.

A fresh, delicious, homemade pie, baked to a crispy, golden brown and still steaming from the oven.

Johnny squatted down and took a whiff. It didn't stink! In fact, it smelled delicious — apple, he thought. He reached down and lifted the aluminum pan off the ground. There was a creak. A rush of air.

Johnny said, "What-" before something incredibly heavy slammed into the back of his head.

He went down onto the floor, face-first into the hot pie. The chunky, gooey filling was just a _ little_ bit hotter that lava, and it went straight into the open cuts on Johnny's face.

Even the Ghost Rider thought he was in Hell.

The man sprang to his feet with a scream and slapped at his face to get the pie filling off. He burned his fingers, and then got hit with that heavy something-or-other again, this time in the knee. Johnny Blaze went down with a roar, screaming and spitting, and then one more blow to the head finished him off. He collapsed onto the floor, his mind reeling and the Ghost Rider staying where he was, leaving him defenseless.

Johnny struggled to open his eyes but his senses were beginning to grow fuzzy. He knew he was on the verge of blacking out. He caught of glimpse of two short, shadowy figures standing before him, wearing matching trench coats. One of them nudged the other and said, "I told you the pie trap would work!"

"I can't believe the stupid son of a gun fell for it," said the other. "I guess you win, Myrve."

"Time to pay up, buddy."

"Wh . . . Who are you?" Johnny gasped, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

The two figures straightened as they were addressed, and the second one said in a stern, governmental voice, "We are agents with the Sacred Bureau of Investigation. And _you_, Danny Ketch, are under arrest."

**To Be Continued...**


	9. Double Trouble

**Chapter 9: Double Trouble**

Tired and dirty from his long journey, Johnny gratefully fell into Roxanne's open arms and hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry, Roxy," he whispered. "Leaving you was the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"It's alright, Johnny," she hushed, brushing her slender fingers through his reddish-blond hair. "I forgive you."

He pulled back and held Roxanne by her soft, slim shoulders. Her large brown eyes shined up at him lovingly. "I'm just so glad I found you again," he murmured. "After being trapped in Hell for six long months . . ." He trailed off and smiled. "But it's all behind me now. I'm ready to live my life. With you. I love you, Roxy."

She smiled, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Oh, Johnny . . ."

They leaned toward each other and their lips met with heated passion, hungry after so much time apart. Johnny broke the kiss and uttered, "I will never leave you again, Roxanne. You're my girl . . . The only one I've ever loved."

Blackheart gasped as his eyes sprang open, his heart pounding in his ears. A dark, silent room greeted him, and he heaved a quivering sigh of relief. Just a dream. An awful one. The bed sheets were clutched in his white-knuckled fists. His skin was damp with sweat, and the empty spot beside him only served to amplify his growing paranoia . . . and loneliness.

He sat up with a grunt and reached for the bottle on the bedside table, tapping out four pills that he swallowed in one dose. He chased them down with a gulp of water and set the empty glass back on the table. Blackheart sighed again, rubbing his chest. Damned heartburn. It was probably why he was having bad dreams.

_Bullshit_, said a small voice in his head. _You're just worried about Johnny._

Blackheart crawled out of bed and pulled on a thick, warm robe, comfortable but hardly comforting. He'd been trying all day to make himself feel better; he'd even been wearing pajamas ever since the farewell party had returned to Morningstar Manor earlier that day without Johnny. The prince had finally decided that he didn't care what he looked like — being comfortable was more important. And now, dressed in a baggy pair of jogging pants and a thin t-shirt, Blackheart shuffled over to the window and peered through the curtains.

The sliver of yellow moon hung in the sky over San Diablo, the city of a million points of light, just down the hill from the Manor. Blackheart stared at it, wondering if Johnny was enjoying the sight of his _own_ moon on the Other Side. Blackheart felt as if he'd been a little too harsh with him that afternoon, but it had been necessary in order for him to make his feelings known. In the end, he found he couldn't blame the man for wanting to go back to his own world for a little while . . . still, it filled Blackheart with fear and worry. Johnny was now far away, beyond Blackheart's control, and the idea of the demon having no power over his spouse made him angry and defensive.

_So I'm a control freak_, he admitted grumpily. _So I take my anger out on people who may not deserve it. So what. I've got bigger problems to deal with right now._

Blackheart suddenly drew in a breath. _Speaking of problems . . ._ It was happening again. Those fluttering sensations in his belly, light but insistent. The baby was moving again. He'd been doing it quite a lot lately. Blackheart hoped it wouldn't happen any more frequently than it already was — it both disgusted and disturbed him. Contrary to most expectant mothers, he didn't find anything miraculous or endearing about feeling the motions of what was essentially a parasite growing inside his body.

_It's like having worms_, he thought bitterly. _Or just one big worm. A human larva, wriggling around . . ._

Blackheart's mouth began to water, and he knew he was going to lurch if he didn't stop dwelling on the revolting aspects of his pregnancy. He decided to think about something else. Anything else. He didn't want to try going back to sleep. He wasn't tired for one thing, and for another he wasn't prepared to lay awake and let Junior kick his guts around all night long.

He sank down into the wingback chair by the window, and with a wave of his hand used what little power he had to turn on the stereo across the room. _Misfits_, he thought. _Saturday Night._

A slow and surprisingly melodious tune filled the room with its grungy guitar riffs, and Blackheart closed his eyes, leaned his head back to enjoy the music.

"_There's fifty-two ways to murder anyone, one or two are the same, and they both work as well_ . . ."

Blackheart smirked in the darkness. Johnny would be having a fit right now if he knew the demon was "poisoning" their son with this garbage. But Johnny wasn't here, so Blackheart could listen to whatever the hell he wanted. Ha.

"_-we were running around and having a blast_," he sang along under his breath (quite off key, too — it's a well-known fact that demons can neither sing, nor dance, nor act). "_But the back seat of the drive-in is so lonely without you, I know when you're home, I was thinking about you. There was something I forgot to say, I was crying on Saturday night. I was out cruisin' without you, they were playing our song. Crying on Saturday night_ . . ."

Even with the macabre lyrics and Blackheart's tone-deaf mumbling, it seemed to calm the grotesque movements of the baby. Blackheart put his hand on his firm round stomach, for once not out of morbid curiosity.

"You like the Misfits too, huh?" he asked, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling. "Your dad's going to kill you if he ever catches you listening to them . . . But I won't tell him if you do. It'll be our little secret." Blackheart paused, then let out a scoffing laugh. "I'm talking to a fetus. I must be losing my mind." _Or just lonely . . ._

He turned his eyes toward the window again, and the glimmering lights of San Diablo in the distance. _You'd better get back soon, Johnny,_ he thought, _before I start caring about this kid as much as I care about you._

_"I was out cruisin' without you, they were playing our song. Crying on Saturday night . . ."_

† † †

Johnny Blaze sat on the sofa in his living room, his hands cuffed behind his back while the whole left side of his face gradually turned a lovely purple hue. The cuts and scrapes that he'd acquired earlier stood out in angry red lines, and his recently pie-burned skin was inflamed and sore. Both eyes were black and swollen, he had a fat, busted lip, and he was pretty sure he was bleeding from his nose. Either that or all the snot in his sinuses had been knocked loose and was now running down his lips like maple syrup.

_Why does it always happen in the face?_ he thought miserably, listening to the two agents from the Sacred Bureau of Investigation argue with one another in a language that sounded like Latin and Yiddish mixed together.

The agents themselves, as Johnny had discovered earlier when he was dragged onto the sofa and handcuffed, were actually angels. (They'd shown Johnny their badges — they had wings in their ID photos.) They could have fooled him though, because one looked like Danny DeVito — fat, short, and balding — and the other looked like a middle-aged version of Napoleon Dynamite. They certainly weren't the classic blond-haired, blue-eyed, Harlequin-romance-novel-cover heartthrobs that popular culture made angels out to be. In fact, these two were quite, quite ugly. The fat one was known as Frank, and the scrawny beanpole was called Myrve*. The names seemed to fit.

"Hey, guys, could I have your attention?" Johnny grunted, trying to interrupt the agents without re-opening his split lip. They kept on bickering. "Guys. Angels. HELLO."

Agents Frank and Myrve stopped and turned to stare at Johnny, almost as if they'd forgotten he was there.

"Can I get a phone call or something? Maybe a glass of water?"

The fat one made a face. "You'll get what you want as soon as you answer our questions, Ketch."

"For the last time, I'm not Danny Ketch," Johnny objected. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about. This is a case of mistaken identity or something."

"You're the Ghost Rider, aren't you?" Myrve butted in.

"Yeah, but-"

"Then that makes you Daniel Ketch, the rogue demon who's been tearing across the U.S. for the past month and leaving a trail of bodies."

"Look, I'm the Ghost Rider, but I'm not this Danny Ketch guy. My name's Johnny Blaze. I'm a stunt rider. Uh, former stunt rider. Take a look around. My name's all over these walls."

Frank and Myrve turned their heads and looked about the living room. Framed carnival posters bearing the name BLAZE hung on practically every wall. The two agents glanced at each other, appearing slightly embarrassed by their own lack of observation.

Johnny rolled his bloodshot eyes. "You didn't even notice? Some detectives _you_ are. How long have you been staked out here? A week? And you never bothered to turn the lights on?"

"Shut up, human," Frank snapped, pointing down at Blaze threateningly. "We're not detectives, we're agents, and we're just here to apprehend the Ghost Rider. This was his last known location." He turned to Myrve and said, "Check the files again. And look up Johnny Blaze. It might be an alias or code name."

The gangly agent pulled what appeared to be a large Blackberry from his trench coat and began pecking at the touch screen.

Johnny sighed heavily. He felt exhausted. "Look, if you don't believe me, I've got a passport."

"Where?" Frank demanded.

"In my jacket. Go on, reach in and get it. I've got nothing to hide."

Frank and Myrve shared another glance before Frank stepped forward and started frisking Johnny's leather jacket. He pulled out a small black booklet with an inverted pentagram emblazoned on the cover, and opened it. A bad photo of Johnny Blaze greeted his eyes, along with his name, his demonic identity, and all of the proper credentials. His passport was stamped by the Federation of Nether-earth. He was here legally.

Frank raised his eyes, a bewildered expression on his chubby face. "Since when did you go to Hell?"

"I've been in Hell for the past six months," Johnny snapped. "I've got witnesses. I'm telling you, you've got the wrong guy."

"But there's only one Ghost Rider!"

"Maybe you need to count again," said Blaze coldly.

Myrve snatched the passport from his partner's hand and examined it. "Resident of San Diablo? How does a _human_ get granted access to the Infernal City? That place is strictly for the upper-class devils, the Rockehellers and the Demonovs."

"I've got friends in low places," Johnny answered.

"I bet," said Myrve, glancing back and forth between the Blackberry and the passport. "Hm, that's funny."

"What?" asked Johnny and Frank in unison.

"Your records on Earth state that you're single, Mr Blaze, but on the passport it says you're married. Sounds like you went to Hell for more than just a vacation."

"So? Couples get married in weird places all the time-"

"Unless you went there to marry a _demon_," Frank interrupted with an ominous scowl, walking over and propping his foot up on the couch. He leaned toward Johnny. "So tell us, Mr Blaze, who is the lucky bride?"

Johnny glared up at the agent with all of the malice he could muster, and kept his mouth shut.

"You won't tell us? Fine. Guess we'll just have to beat it out of you-"

"What about this Danny Ketch guy?" Johnny blurted. He really didn't want to get hit anymore. "Have you forgotten all about him?"

"We'll catch him sooner or later — it's just a matter of time. _You_, however, are a lot more dangerous than we suspected. Not only are you a Ghost Rider, but apparently you've struck a bargain with your evil masters and now you're cooperating with them. I suspect you've even married one of them. That means you've given up what little humanity you had left, Mr Blaze. You're a full-blown enemy of Heaven."

"Not by _my_ choice," Johnny growled. "Where was Heaven during all of this? I sure could have used a guardian angel a few times in my life, like when I made a deal with the Devil or when the Prince of Hell drugged and kidnapped me. But you know what? If this is the way angels treat humans, I'd rather be on the Devil's side, because you guys _suck_. I've met demons that were nicer to me than you two sons of bitches, and at least _they_ didn't beat me over the head with a goddamned fire extinguisher."

Frank's face was pink with fury. "We're not guardian angels, pinhead! It's not our job to-"

"Drugged and kidnapped by the Prince of Hell?" Myrve repeated slowly.

Johnny's eyes widened. He'd said too much.

"Ohhh, is _that_ how you ended up in Hell?" Frank asked, grinning. "How unfortunate. What did that brainless little moron want with the Ghost Rider? Probably another half-witted plan of his to try to take over the world, I'll bet." He and Myrve enjoyed a good chuckle.

Blaze felt his blood boil to hear Blackheart insulted. Memories of that night at the baby shower, with Blackheart in tears on the bathroom floor, scared and angry and hurt, came back to him. Johnny couldn't restrain himself. "Lay off him, you asshole," he snarled. "He's just a kid."

"He's still pretty stupid," Frank chortled. "_God's_ son learned to walk on water when he was twelve. The Devil's son was still tripping over his shoelaces at that age, I bet."

"Satan is such a copycat, too," Myrve agreed. "God has a son, and then a few years later _he_ decides to have one, too. He thought having a kid running around on Earth would keep God distracted, giving him enough time to take over the world. Talk about a stupid idea."

Johnny felt a wave of shock crash into him. Mephisto . . . He'd done the exact same thing that Blackheart was doing now! Like father, like son. Blaze groaned softly under his breath. His head was _killing_ him.

Frank waved his hand. "Well, what do you expect from the only angel stupid enough to challenge the Almighty? Idiocy runs in the family."

"Heh, I guess the forbidden apple doesn't fall far from the Tree of Knowledge."

"If you ask me, Satan should have helped himself to that tree before Eve did. He could have really used-"

"SHUT UP!" Johnny roared, startling the two angels. They were quiet for a moment, then Myrve made a puzzled face.

"Hmm. Looks like we hit a nerve, Frank."

"It sure does, Myrve. Kinda makes me wonder . . ."

Johnny scowled. "Don't read too much into it."

"You sure are defensive about the Infernal Family, Mr Blaze."

"I know where my loyalties lie," Blaze answered darkly. A small part of him couldn't believe that he was seriously taking the Bad Guys' side, but a large part of him, including his heart, knew that good and bad was only in the eye of the beholder.

The wheels were turning in Frank's mind, and he persisted with his heckling. "Loyalty to Satan, huh? That's pretty brave of you to admit, Mr Blaze, especially in front of two angels. I can't think of any reason why you'd confess to such a thing, unless you were a part of the Infernal Family itself."

"Blood is thicker than water," Myrve put in.

"Indeed it is. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you might have married one of their own. Maybe even the Prince himself — hmph, I always knew he was queer. And if that witless wonder is anything like his father, I wouldn't put it past him to make the same darn mistake his old man did."

Myrve stared at Frank. "You don't think . . ."

"Think that since Antichrist #1 failed, Antichrist #2 might not?"

The agents stared at each other in horror. "Oh mercy, Frank. You don't mean that."

"Why not? It's just stupid enough to work. On top of that, the whole gender-bending idea is pure madness — who would expect the Prince to carry the child? Nobody, 'cause it's just _ that_ insane. Only a crazy twit like Blackheart would impregnate himself to try to take over the world-"

"What? No, no. You've got it all wrong," Johnny interrupted, attempting to distract the angels.

"-but who on Earth could possibly be dumb enough to knock up the Prince of Hell?"

Slowly the agents' eyes turned to Johnny Blaze, glaring at them venomously from the couch. "You said you were drugged _and_ kidnapped, Mr Blaze? My my. I wonder what happened while you were 'out'."

"Ohhh no," Myrve moaned, already believing his partner's suspicions. "Not another Antichrist."

"Don't worry, just look at the parents. Kid's bound to be as dumb as a stump. We're in no danger."

"You two are the biggest fucking dickheads I've ever met," Johnny muttered. "And you're totally wrong. I've never even met-"

"But what if we _are_ in danger?" Myrve fretted, ignoring Blaze and wringing his hands. "You know math, Frank. You multiply a negative number by a negative number and you get a positive number. What if the stupidity of the parents cancels each other out and we end up with a genius Antichrist?"

"Oh _crap_."

"We need to alert the Bureau right away. We've got to stop this."

"You're right. We can't take any chances."

"He could be giving birth to the Antichrist right now!" Myrve cried.

"Calm down, pal. It'll be okay. We'll call in the Wolf Brothers. They'll take care of it."

"Who'll take care of what? Hey! What're you doing?" Johnny demanded, bewildered and suddenly worried. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Dead serious, Mr Blaze," Frank muttered, pulling out a shiny white cell phone with gold trim and dialing a number. He turned his back on Johnny. "Charlie. It's Frank. We've run into a bit of a problem."

Myrve began to peck frantically on his Blackberry, ignoring the man on the couch. Stealthily, Johnny pulled his wrists apart, testing the strength of the handcuffs. These agents were completely mental, and if they meant to do what he feared they meant to do . . .

_Zarathos_, he thought, _I could really use some help right about now!_

_It wouldn't matter_, came a second thought in Johnny's mind. _ Two angels against one demon. I don't have my shotgun or my chain. I'd be destroyed._

_I don't care. They're going after Blackheart. I think they plan to kill my son. They might even kill me. I've gotta do something._

"We've located a, uh, Johnny Blaze, sir," Frank was saying. "He claims to be a Ghost Rider, and his sources confirm his identity." Pause. "Yes sir, there are _two_ Riders, apparently. Ketch is still on the loose, but in light of recent information, I propose that we postpone the search for Ketch and focus our attention on the Prince of Hell. We believe he might be pregnant, sir."

Johnny growled under his breath and tried to squeeze his hands from the cuffs.

"Yes sir, I understand your concern, but we really can't take any chances. We have no idea how far along he might be. It would be wise to act now before we end up with a problem just like the one we had with Satan."

Johnny was starting to panic. He had to break free and get back to Hell. Fuck the Earth. Blackheart was more important. Johnny tried to think, his racing mind a blur of options. Maybe he could curl into a ball and slip his legs through his arms — he'd still be handcuffed, but at least his hands would be in front of him. Then he could jump up and quietly take out Myrve, then sneak up on Frank and choke him. Or maybe he should just jump out the window now and worry about getting free later. These agents were scaring the shit out of Zarathos, and there was no chance of turning into the Ghost Rider so long as Johnny was around Frank and Myrve, so if he ran first and then got away, he could easily escape his bonds and then go racing back to —

The sound of the lift whirring to life suddenly caused all three men (or men-like creatures) to turn their eyes toward the elevator. The group watched in silent shock as the lift reached the second floor and the metal gate was slid back.

"You've _got_ to be shitting me," Johnny uttered.

Carter Slade, dressed in a long brown duster and worn leather hat, his face as stern and stoic as it had always been, calmly pointed an antique double-barreled shotgun at Frank. "Hang it up," he ordered in his deep, rough voice.

"Slade! Wh-what do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm threatenin' you, Frank." The silver-haired Caretaker jerked his gun. "Now get off the phone — you just had somethin' come up."

Frank shut the phone with a click.

"Now put it on the floor and kick it to me."

The chubby angel did as he was told; the phone bumped against the cowboy's boot. Slade lifted his foot and brought it down with a crunch. Circuit panels and plastic shards went flying. Frank winced.

"That's better. Now get over there with your partner."

Myrve, who was attempting to sidle away, jumped with surprise when the barrel swung around to point right at his face. He dropped his Blackberry and put both hands high in the air. He and Frank huddled side by side in the middle of the living room.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Carter, but you're interfering with this investigation and-"

"Shut your mouth, Frank. The only reason I took the job at the Bureau was to help the poor souls held captive by the Rider's curse . . . not beat 'em to death like you jackasses have done." Slade looked over at Johnny and grinned slightly. "You all right there, Bonehead?"

"I've been better."

The Caretaker glowered at the two angels. "Now listen up, amigos. You're gonna release Johnny here and apologize to him. Then I'm takin' him into my custody, is that clear?"

"But he's _our_ suspect," Myrve cried. "What do you want with him?"

"That's nobody's business but my own," muttered Slade. "And you two jackals got no business siccin' the Wolf Brothers on Blackheart. You're just gonna piss him off, and then the entire Bureau will come under fire. Just when Heaven and Hell seem to have called a truce, you couple 'a yella weasels go and ruin everything. I hope you both get suspended."

"You know the rules, Carter. Reasonable suspicion is reasonable cause!" Frank snapped.

"You don't got a warrant to send your hitmen to Hell. That's a violation of code."

"Well it's too late to do anything about it now. The Wolfs are already on their way. And I bet the Boss is going to have something to say about your conduct," Frank threatened weakly.

Slade leaned his head to the side and spat tobacco juice on the floor. "I care. Now gentlemen, if you'll be so kind as to release my young friend here, I might reconsider kickin' your asses all the way to Kingdom Come. Hop to it now! We haven't got all night."

† † †

"What in the hell is happening?" Johnny asked as he and Slade stepped off the lift into the garage. He was dabbing at the cuts on his face with a handkerchief that the Caretaker had given him.

"A whole lotta horseshit, that's what," the old cowboy answered. "But I ain't got time to explain it here. Banshee's waiting for me outside — you just hop on that bike of yours and try to keep up."

Johnny stopped where he was and planted his boots firmly on the concrete floor. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about. What are you doing here? _How_ are you here? I thought you were dead."

"I am."

"Oh."

The Caretaker put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. Surprisingly solid for a ghost. "Johnny," he said wearily, "there are things I'm going to tell you that will change your life forever."

Blaze made a doomed expression. It was his wedding day all over again. "As if my life hasn't already been changed forever once already," he muttered. "Look, Carter, I'd love to ride hellbent all over the wild west with you, but I've gotta get back to Hell where I belong-"

"If you leave now, then your brother is doomed, Johnny."

"Heh, you must be mistaken. I don't have a brother."

Slade smirked. "Yes, you do. And if you wanna save his life, you better come with me."

Johnny sighed, and for some reason his current situation was summed up in one insane sentence: two obnoxious angels had beaten his face to a pulp with a fire extinguisher, figured out that he was married to the pregnant Prince of Hell, and he'd been saved by the ghost of Carter Slade, who was about to lead Johnny on a quest to find his long-lost brother. Goodbye, normal life. Sayonara, sanity. From here on, it was nothing but madness.

"As much as I wanna believe you," he said carefully, "somebody I care about is in danger. I have to go back to Nether-earth."

"Then I guess it don't matter that you brother is sufferin' from the same curse you are, huh?"

Johnny's heart suddenly stopped. "What do you mean?"

"I mean your brother is a Ghost Rider, too, Johnny. The demonic force inside of him is going berserk, and he can't control it. He's gonna die if we don't catch that demon and bring him under control."

"And how are we gonna do that?" Johnny asked.

"I'm not a Rider anymore. I'm an SBI agent. I don't have the power to command other demons," said Carter, shoving open the double doors that led into the alley. He turned and stared at Johnny. "But _you_ do, kid. And you're the only one on Earth, Heaven or Hell that can help him."

Johnny stalled, flustered and torn between two choices: run to defend Blackheart from whatever forces were sent after him, or rush to save the brother — and only surviving family — he never knew he had. After a moment's deliberation, he raised his head.

"I'm going back to Nether-earth."

"Johnny, think of what you're-"

"I have to help Blackheart. He's . . . in no condition to fight. He can't."

Slade appeared shocked for a second. "Help Blackheart? What for? He's the Prince of Hell, stupid. Even if he can't fight for himself, there's armies of demons who will. Besides, aren't you two mortal enemies or somethin'?"

"Well, uh-"

"Forget it. We've wasted too much time already. The new Ghost Rider is killing innocent people as we stand here flappin' our gums. If not for your brother, Johnny, do it for the victims. Nobody else can stop the Rider but you."

Blaze shut his mouth and stood somberly. Maybe the old guy was right. Blackheart would be safe at the Manor, and surely there was a legion of demons protecting him . . . and even though Johnny might be more demon than human now, the heart that beat inside him was still mortal. And he still cared about his fellow man. "Okay," he grunted. "Let's ride."

Slade whistled sharply and a shiny black stallion came trotting into the garage. The old cowboy slid up into the saddle and took the reins. A white glow surrounded him and his horse, and suddenly they were nothing but pale wisps of eerie fog, ghostlike and ethereal, floating weightlessly in the air. Banshee pawed the ground and snorted, eager to ride. Johnny climb onto Grace and started her up, his body igniting as he became the Ghost Rider. With a single nod to one another, he and Carter Slade raced from the garage, barreling down the alleyway and disappearing into the night.

† † †

Six days had come and gone by Hell-reckoning, and on the seventh day Blackheart woke up with a sense of relief. Johnny would be coming home today. No more lonely, sleepless nights. No more long afternoons of silence and stillness. There would be passionate fights and heartfelt apologies filling up the day with their wonderful noisiness; squabbles and ranting on all six floors of Morningstar Manor, the smell of gasoline and brimstone tainting the air, oil-stained clothes clogging up the laundry hamper, all of the things that Blackheart abhorred about Johnny and had no idea he'd been missing.

_Tonight I'm going to sleep right up against him_, he thought as he hurried through his morning routine. _I'm going to _sleep_, period._ _I don't care how much that knee of his pokes me. I'll even let him put his arm around me if he wants. Fuck the one-minute rule. I don't want him out of my sight for a month._

Blackheart paused, smiled at his pale, haggard reflection in the mirror. He felt nervous and excited, so happy he was almost ashamed of himself. But not today. Today would show that happiness, and he didn't care who saw it.

He'd risen earlier than usual this day, and devoted much of the time that morning obsessively making lists. Lists about anything. He even started making a list of names for the baby. He knew Johnny would be glad to see it. Unfortunately Blackheart had no imagination to speak of, so he ended up with a list of names like "Bob", "George" and "Sam".

Breaking his proud and haughty nature, he went around the Manor asking the maids and butlers if they had any suggestions. The first name always mentioned was "Damien" (naturally —_ The Omen_ was the highest-grossing film in Nether-earth, and Damien was now the most common name in Hell), but Blackheart hated it and didn't even write it down. Every demon named his son Damien.

He visited Beeves and Courtney and Beelzebub and even Mephisto, but the best name he got out of all four of them was "Blacklung". And they'd been really trying.

Midday rolled around at last, and the happiness had worn off. Now Blackheart was just anxious and snappy and tired of waiting, and he was starting to drive everyone in the house crazy. Fortunately it was time to go pick up Johnny at the gate. He dressed himself in his best pajamas (yoga pants and a Hellion High Marching Band t-shirt — he'd been a drum major**) and beat a path to the garage.

Blackheart had been waiting in the limo for twenty minutes before Mephisto and Beelzebub finally climbed in. The prince told the driver to floor it if he wanted to live to see another day, but Mephisto intervened before any more death threats could be voiced.

"Just cool it, son," he chided to a sulking Blackheart. "We're an hour early as it is."

"He might come back early."

"Or he might be running late. Who knows? I just hope you've got enough patience to wait for him."

"Dad, I don't have any patience. You know that."

"I must have forgotten. Silly me."

The drive was agony for Blackheart, who couldn't sit still. If he wasn't bouncing his leg, he was chewing his nails, and if he wasn't doing _that_, he was cracking his knuckles or twiddling his thumbs or drumming his fingers on his knees, ad infinitum. He was a pile of anxiety. And he was contagious.

Beelzebub, who already had at least three diagnosed nervous disorders, started in with the nail-biting and the leg-bouncing, and then finally Mephisto had to yell at them both to calm down before he was forced to use his cane for something other than walking assistance.

Finally, after a grueling 20-minute drive, the black wall loomed up on the horizon. Blackheart leaped out of the limo before it had come to a full stop and beat the gate-keepers to the scene.

"Your highness," they said to him, "we won't be expecting Mr Blaze for another 45 minutes."

Blackheart crossed his arms over his t-shirt and glared at the two gate-keepers with a look that all but said 'Go to Heaven, I'm not moving from this spot'. The guards understood the look immediately.

"Er, very well then, sire. Would you like a chair while you wait?"

"No," he snapped. He didn't bother to add that if he sat down he might not be able to get up without assistance. If his belly got any bigger, he was going to start renting it out to advertisers. It was more visible than most billboards.

Blackheart began to slowly pace across the road, keeping his head down and his arms crossed. Mephisto got out of the limo and stood with the driver, chatting about business and smoking cigars. Beelzebub, who had brought his copy of _Breaking Dawn_, sat in the limo and read. He should have brought more books because when he finished the paperback and looked up, Johnny still had not arrived.

Concerned, the demon got out of the car and approached Mephisto, who after two long hours of waiting had a grim look on his face. "What's going on, your majesty? Is Mr Blaze running late?"

When his master didn't answer, Beelzebub turned his gaze to the wall. Blackheart was sitting with his back against it, his head bowed and his arms resting on his knees. He looked tired and depressed, but no matter how much the gate-keepers tried to lure him back to the comfort of the limo, Blackheart remained where he was.

"I want to be here when he comes through," he growled at them. "Now leave me alone!"

Minutes passed. Hours passed. The day passed. Soon the late afternoon winds began to pick up as the hellfire sun began to sink toward the horizon of San Diablo. The sky began to darken. Nobody wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it: Johnny Blaze would not be coming back today.

The cold desert breeze sent spirals of dust whirling across the road, and the stars began to twinkle in the smoky sky. Night had fallen. It was dark out here away from the city, but demons were well-suited to the darkness and could see as clearly in the night as owls.

Blackheart was still sitting against the wall when Mephisto called Beelzebub over to him. "Go fetch him," he said sullenly. "I'm sure he's accepted the truth by now."

The Lord of Flies gulped in fear but obediently walked out to where the prince sat. He crouched down and placed a hand on his master's shoulder. "Your highness?"

Blackheart raised his head slowly, revealing a pale face that was utterly destroyed by grief. His blue eyes were now red and bloodshot, puffy and red-rimmed from crying in secret. The wind scattered his black hair, unaffected by his suffering. Beelzebub had never seen him in such a state.

"It's late, sire," he said gently. "We should return to the Manor."

"He left me," Blackheart whispered.

"My lord?"

"He left me. Johnny left me."

"Nonsense, your highness. I'm sure he was just delayed by . . . er . . . something."

Blackheart shook his head in despair. "No. I had a dream he . . ." He covered his face with his hands, the gold wedding band on his finger more meaningless now than it had ever been.

Beelzebub felt his heart breaking. This was unusual, because all his life he'd been terrified of Blackheart and never really liked him at all. But now, seeing his lifelong antagonist in the throes of complete misery and anguish, he felt a sense of connection with his master that he'd never felt before. He seemed so young and helpless, so in need of protection. Beelzebub pitied him and wished there was something he could do.

He began to think about the situation, trying to imagine such a merciless betrayal at the hands of a man who seemed like such a nice guy. If Johnny had indeed left Nether-earth for good, then Blackheart was all on his own. Who could do that to his spouse, three months from the birth of his son? It wasn't like Blaze at all, Beelzebub knew it — he and Johnny played cards with the other Archdemons almost every night, and Johnny was too honest to cheat at poker, even when the others were clearly doing it. Everybody knows there aren't ten aces in a deck, but still Johnny kept playing, even though he knew he was going to lose. He would never abandon Blackheart like this, not in a million years.

_Something's wrong_, Beelzebub thought. Something had happened to Johnny, he was sure of it. Maybe he was in trouble. Maybe he'd gotten arrested. Surely there was a reason for his disappearance.

Beelzebub put his arm around Blackheart's waist and dragged him to his feet. The prince was a lot heavier than he remembered. "Come on, sire," he said firmly. "Let's get you home. You need to rest. You've been out in the sun all day and that can't be good. Tomorrow we can come back and see if-"

"He won't be back, Bubba. Don't you get it? Johnny has left me . . . just like I knew he would." Blackheart shook his head and then unexpectedly burst into tears. "How could I have been so _stupid_?"

Beelzebub clenched his teeth and led his master toward the limo and the somber faces that stared back at them with pity. _Blackheart may have given up_, he thought, _but I haven't. I'm gonna find out what happened to Johnny . . . even if I have to go to the mortal world and drag him back myself!_

**To Be Continued...**

*Frank and Myrve. Like Frankincense and Myrrh, from the Bible. (It's Heaven's potpourri.)  
**Wes Bentley had, in fact, been a drum major for his junior high school marching band in Sherwood, Arkansas. The correlation was totally intentional.


	10. Johnny Blaze's Mysterious Disappearance

**Chapter 10: The Mysterious Disappearance of Johnny Blaze  
**

"Look," Beelzebub explained shakily, "I just don't think that we should be jumping to any conclusions, that's all. We don't know anything at this point, sire."

"I think we all have a pretty good idea of what's happened," Mephisto drawled, taking a long sip from his bourbon. "He got cold feet and took off. I can't blame him, really. I've been in situations like that before, and believe me, Bellz, they can really scare a man. If you ever have kids, you'll understand."

Night had fallen at Morningstar Manor, and everyone of immediate family importance was gathered in the Devil's dim, quiet study for a conference on Johnny Blaze's inexplicable and unexpected disappearance. Beeves the butler was in attendance, as well as Courtney the secretary, who was taking notes furiously, and of course Beelzebub, who was on his tenth cup of Chamomile Ultimate Relaxation herbal tea. He was still a nervous wreck, especially after they had returned home without Johnny earlier that evening. It had been hard on them all, but Blackheart was taking it worst of all; he'd gone up to his room and hadn't been seen since. They were all concerned by this terrible turn of events and were trying to figure out a plan of action.

"Yes, my lord, Johnny _could_ have run away," Beelzebub continued, "but you know as well as I do that he wouldn't do such a thing without explaining his reasons to somebody first."

"Maybe he forgot to explain his reasons to somebody first," Courtney put in wisely.

Mephisto leaned over to pat his secretary's poofy blonde hair. "Why don't you let the men talk, my dear? You just keep . . . doing whatever it is that you're doing."

Courtney pouted but resumed her note-taking.

"Now then," the Devil continued. "We all seem to have different ideas concerning the reasons for Johnny's disappearance. Whether or not he wants to come back is-"

"Or whether or not he _can_ come back," Beelzebub interjected.

"Whether or not he comes back at _all_, there's nothing we can do about it except wait and see what happens."

"_Wait_? That's your plan? But your majesty-!" Beelzebub started, though he stopped short when Mephisto held up his hand for silence.

"There will be no investigation," said Mephisto. "No search parties. This information doesn't go beyond the walls of this house — the last thing we need is the general public knowing about the situation, which is already scandalous enough."

"But my lord, what if Johnny's in genuine danger? What if he needs help? We can't abandon him like this — if Blackheart was in his right mind right now, you can bet he'd be coordinating the biggest manhunt that Nether-earth has ever seen."

Mephisto had the look of a weary old man who was trying hard to deal with bad news. He shook his head and sighed sadly. "Whatever the situation, Johnny will have to fend for himself. He's gotten out of worse situations without our help, and I for one don't want to find out that he isn't coming back and then have to explain to my son why his husband abandoned him."

"Have you thought about trying to explain to your son why we let his husband die on account of our not wanting to get involved? . . . Sire."

"Blackheart would rather see Johnny dead than with someone else. And I don't appreciate the attitude, Beelzebub."

The Lord of Flies glowered bravely at his master. "My apologies, your majesty, but Blackheart has a right to know why Johnny has disappeared."

"Blackheart doesn't need this ungodly mess resting on his shoulders. He's got more important things to carry right now."

A brief silence fell as the whole group thought about their prince, six months pregnant and at present a single parent. Not a demon in the room could say that he (or she) didn't pity Blackheart's depressing situation.

"You've got to see things from my angle," Mephisto continued, putting down his glass and threading his fingers together. "If it were up to me, I'd be on Earth myself looking for Johnny. But I don't want to get Blackheart's hopes up for nothing. If Johnny doesn't come back . . . well, that's just the way it is. And we'd all better start getting used to it."

Beeves, Beelzebub and Courtney were silent, trying to imagine that Johnny was gone forever. In his own way, the silly mortal man had touched each of their lives in special ways: Beelzebub at last had a card-buddy who wouldn't cheat him into debt, and an easy-going superior who seemed more like a friend — he'd never had that before. And Beeves, he liked Johnny for not demeaning him or treating him like a slave on a 24-hour basis — to think that Master Blaze even said "please" and "thank you" to him! What a welcome relief from the demeaning task of serving a bunch of ungrateful demons.

Even Courtney had her reasons for liking Johnny; he helped keep Blackheart out of Mephisto's affairs, leaving her boss more time to spend with her. If Johnny was gone for good, she could kiss those sweet moments of private inter-office relations goodbye.

It was like a tomb in Mephisto's study. Nobody wanted to see Johnny disappear like this — they'd grown much too attached to him. Even the Devil himself could admit that having the human in the house was like a breath of fresh air. He would be sorely missed. And that only strengthened Beelzebub's resolve to go to Earth and find Johnny, even if he had to do it by himself.

The Lord of Flies stood stiffly to his feet. "If this meeting is over, I'd like to . . . um. Be excused. That tea went right through me."

Mephisto nodded and waved his hand. "You're excused. And Beelzebub?"

"Yes?"

"Say nothing to Blackheart. It will only upset him."

The tall demon nodded in agreement. "Of course, sire."

† † †

Blackheart's room was dark and quiet. The Prince lay in bed, curled up on his side with a soggy, limp handkerchief clutched in his fist. His nose and cheeks were still ruddy and red from crying, though he had calmed down a lot since earlier that evening. He hadn't broken too many things or destroyed his room too badly — he was far too weak to exert himself, but his weakness only fueled his anger and frustration. He had become something he hated: a maternal figure, crippled by emotion and dependent upon a man who had no doubt betrayed him.

Disgusted by himself and ashamed of his broken heart, he'd retreated to his bed to sleep it off. He dozed intermittently, disturbed by bad dreams and the slight movements of the baby inside him. He didn't hear the gentle knock at his bedroom door, or the quiet creak as it opened and brushed against the shards of the lamp that had been shattered hours before.

Beelzebub stepped into the room, his brow creased with worry — he hoped he wouldn't get caught here, otherwise he'd be in big trouble. "My lord?" he whispered, but received no response.

Gulping nervously, he tiptoed through the shadows and approached the bed. He saw his master lying in a fetal position on the strewn covers and took a careful seat on the edge of the mattress. He leaned over and placed a hand on Blackheart's shoulder.

"Sire? I must speak with you. I'm sorry to disturb-"

"I'm not sleeping," interrupted the hoarse voice.

Beelzebub went silent as Blackheart slowly rose from his motionless state and sat up. He looked positively sick with grief, as if the very fires in the core of his being had gone out. His wet eyes were dull and lifeless, their blue sparkle gone. His face was wane and sallow, stained with sweat and chapped red from tears. The archdemon tried to suppress his shock at seeing his lord so disheveled.

"Your highness . . ." he uttered softly, his voice filled with sympathy.

Blackheart turned his face away from his longtime servant. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a poor, pathetic fool."

"I don't think you're a fool, sire."

"Then you're the first." Blackheart rubbed his nose and sniffed. "Where did I go wrong, Bubba? What did I do to make Johnny leave? I didn't treat him horribly, did I? I gave him all the freedom a man could want and this is how he thanks me, by deserting me when I-"

"I'm going to Earth to find him."

"-the most and . . . What?"

Beelzebub made a determined expression. "I'm going to Earth to find Johnny and bring him back."

Blackheart stared at the demon, his eyes wide with surprise . . . and hope. "Are you serious?"

Beelzebub nodded crisply. "I just came from a conference with Mephisto. He's refusing to investigate Johnny's disappearance."

"What? Why? Isn't he-"

"He thinks that Johnny left you on purpose and he doesn't want to upset you if he finds that to be true. He made me swear not to talk to you about this or make any rash decisions."

"And you, in your infinite stupidity, do both." Blackheart shook his head. "Why, Bubba?"

"Because I believe that Johnny is a good man," Beelzebub answered, "and he would never walk away from his family. Don't tell me that you've lost faith in him, sire. Because I haven't. I mean to prove it by going to the mortal world and finding him. I know in my heart that something bad has happened to him and that he needs help."

"You can't go to Earth, Bubba," the prince argued, rising to his feet. "My father would never give you permission to cross the border."

"Then I'll have to do it illegally."

"It's dangerous."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"You could die!"

"I won't go alone. I'll bring assistance."

Blackheart scoffed. "You're crazy. You're breaking the law and risking your life, and for what?"

"For _you_," the archdemon said, standing and staring at his master with fists clenched resolutely. "When you're around Johnny, you become somebody I don't even recognize — your snotty attitude disappears and you . . . You become a _real _prince. You smile. You laugh. You don't care what others think. I see power and self-confidence in you. I see pride and strength and honor and all of the things we demons pretend to despise but in truth revere more than the angels do. Something about Johnny brings out the best in you, my lord, and I never want to see that disappear. I know he makes you happy. I know that he loves you. And for something as rare as love to bloom in a place like Hell . . . it would be a shame to let it wither and die."

In the aftermath of Beelzebub's passionate speech, Blackheart swallowed hard, appearing suddenly guilted by his own lack of faith.

"I'm begging you, your highness, believe in Johnny. Believe in me. I'll find him or die trying. This I swear to you."

Blackheart sat down on the edge of the bed dizzily, his heart as confused as his mind. Beelzebub kneeled on the floor beside him.

"I'm offering to find out the truth for you," he whispered. "Would you rather know the truth, or spend the rest of your life wondering?"

"I d-don't know," Blackheart stuttered. His hands were beginning to shake. "If Johnny left because of me, I don't know if I could take it."

"But imagine if he didn't. Imagine that he's trapped somewhere, captured, arrested — how would you feel if we just sat back and did nothing?"

"I couldn't take that, either."

"So make your choice, my lord: truth, or never knowing." Beelzebub paused. "If you love him, you already know which it is."

Blackheart slowly turned his head to stare sullenly at the demon. "Then so do you."

Beelzebub drew in a long breath and stood to his feet. "Don't tell Mephisto."

"I won't."

The archdemon nodded. "If you haven't heard word from me by the time you've had the baby, send out the Infernal Bureau of Investigation. Something bad could be happening on the other side."

"Okay."

Beelzebub bowed his head respectfully and started to leave.

"Bubba?"

He paused, his hand on the door.

Blackheart stood up, his eyes saturated with worry but bright with hope. "Dead or alive."

Beelzebub smiled thinly, understanding. He nodded to his prince and turned to go. A moment later the door closed behind him, and Blackheart sank down onto the bed, cradling his head in his hands, hoping that his faith would not fail him again. And that it wouldn't be for nothing.

† † †

Beeves inclined his head as the Lord of Flies approached from down the corridor. "Is everything in order, sir?"

"Yes. I leave tonight — there's no time to lose."

"As you wish, sir. If you'd excuse me now, I'll go gather your things for-"

"Hey, Beeves?"

"Yes, my lord."

Beelzebub put a hand on the old butler's shoulder. "Take care of Blackheart. He's going to need someone to look after him."

"Of course, sir. I'll do what I can. Good luck to you."

The demon gave Beeves' shoulder a solid pat and then he turned, striding down the dark corridor with the tail of his black cloak spreading silently behind him.

† † †

Though the majority of the area of San Diablo was a wealthy and high-class, there was, like any city, a small pocket of slummage that existed on its southwestern border. This area, known as Dregsburg, was a dilapidated collection of old apartment buildings and industrial parks, and this was where the rejects and former felons of the demon world made their home.

A black cloud flew over the rundown, dirty little town, moving swiftly against the ashy wind, and then began to descend to the street. Though it appeared to be smoke at first glance, the droning sound buzzing insects belayed the truth: a thick cloud of flies, numbering thousands, coalesced into a humming pillar. The mass congealed, forming a solid shape, and a few moments later Beelzebub stepped onto the street like Clint Eastwood at a showdown. The normally timid and neurotic side of the demon had vanished — he had become Bubba the Badass. He cracked his knuckles and set his jaw — this was his last stop before crossing into the human realm, and he had business with three demons in particular, ones who had lived on Earth for centuries before finally being caught and returned to their rightful place. And he knew exactly where to find them . . .

† † †

The door to Building 3, Apartment 6 was kicked down with a splintering crash.

Wallow, who had been sleeping in the soggy recliner in the corner, sprang up with a screech. On the nearby couch, Gressil snapped his head up from an episode of _Wheel of Torture_ and shed pebbles of panic all over the floor.

"Holy shit, what was that!?" he bellowed, and immediately turned into a pile of sand to hide between the couch cushions.

Beelzebub stepped over the jagged remains of the door and Wallow abruptly began to choke on his own tongue. "Wallow. Gressil. How nice to see you again." He gazed around the trashed apartment with his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Where's Abigor?"

"He's out getting pizza," came the muffled voice from the couch. "He should be back any minute."

Wallow oozed deeper into his chair. "We didn't do it, we swear."

"Do what?" the archdemon demanded.

"Uh . . . Never mind. Why are you here?"

"That's 'why are you here, _sir_'," Beelzebub corrected sourly. "And _I'll_ ask the questions, thank you very much."

"Please don't kill us . . . s-sir," Gressil pleaded, reconstituting on the couch with his hands clasped imploringly. "We'll do anything."

"I know. I heard about how you snuck into the Prince's baby shower last month. Blew the guards, didn't you?"

The two lowly demons cringed with embarrassment.

"For a couple of complete imbeciles, you sure have a lot of nerve. That's why you're coming to Earth with me."

Wallow and Gressil snapped to attention. "We're what?"

"You're joking."

"We're off probation now?"

"We're going back to Earth?"

"What for?"

"What are we gonna do there?"

"Are we gonna get paid for this?"

"Are you serious?"

"Enough," Beelzebub snapped. "Yes, Earth. No, I'm not joking. We're going there to search for Johnny Blaze. He's gone missing and I'm on a secret mission to bring him back."

The two seated demons shared a knowing glance with one another. "Uh oh," Gressil muttered. "Sounds like ol' Johnny-boy wisened up."

"Can't blame him," Wallow sighed. "Who'd want to be married to that fat, pregnant cow when-"

Flies suddenly exploded all over the room as Beelzebub unleashed his temper. "SILENCE!" he shouted.

Gressil and Wallow screamed and recoiled with fear until the teeming insects dissipated.

"If I ever hear you insult our Prince again, both of you are going to the bottom of the Lake of Fire. Is that clear?"

Furious nods from all around.

Right on time, Abigor materialized in front of the shattered door with a box of pizza in one hand. He surveyed the damage, paying no mind to the stranger in their midst. "Woah. What did I miss?"

Beelzebub turned around and gave the lesser demon the fright of his life.

"Holy fuh-! I, I mean, Lord Beelzebub! Wh-what are _you_ doing here?"

"Your friends can tell you on the way." The archdemon grabbed the air-elemental by his feathery collar and proceeded to lead him out of the apartment. "Wallow. Gressil. Get your butts in gear. Move!"

The two demons leaped out of their seats and rushed after Beelzebub. "Hey, wait!" they cried. "What about our pizza?"

"We don't have time. Eat it on the way."

"But I'll get indigestion!" Gressil moaned.

"You're going to get something a lot worse than indigestion if you don't shut your mouth and do what I say!"

"Yes, sir."

Beelzebub sighed and shook his head. Now he knew how Blackheart must have felt during his hunt for the Contract of San Venganza — these three demons were the epitome of idiocy. _We'd better find Johnny soon_, he thought, listening to the sounds of the Hidden sloppily snarfing down their pizza. _I don't know if I can take being around these morons day after day. If only another demon knew about Earth as much as they do_ . . .

Well, there was no sense in wishing now. The hunt was on, and the clock was ticking.

† † †

Ten times the sun had risen and set over the miles of road that passed beneath a swiftly-moving pair of fiery tires. A demon of fire and his ghostly cowboy companion had been riding north and west nonstop since that fateful night in Fort Worth, following the scorched trail of bodies and destruction through one small city after another. It seemed that the delinquent Danny Ketch, a Ghost Rider gone mad, was always one step ahead of them. In the past few days, however, they seemed to be getting closer to their target — it was about time, too. Even the Ghost Rider was capable of feeling fatigue, and ten solid days of riding was beginning to take a toll on Zarathos.

Shortly after sunset, along a deserted stretch of desert highway somewhere between Phoenix and Salt Lake City, the foggy apparition of Carter Slade slowed his steed to a halt and resumed his solid state. "I hate to stop now when we're gettin' so close," he muttered, removing his hat, "but ol' Banshee here needs a break." He patted the horse's neck. "Look like you could use some rest, too, kid."

Johnny was only too happy to extinguish his flames and allow the Rider to retreat to the inner depths of his soul. Burning for ten whole days with no rest was exhausting, and he had never done it for that long before. With a grateful sigh Johnny became himself again and stiffly dismounted Grace, stretching his legs for the first time in days.

Carter watched the younger man limp around and he chuckled. "Saddle sore, amigo?"

"If I don't get a hemorrhoid, it'll be a damn miracle," Johnny grumped.

The old cowboy laughed.

They made a rustic camp not far from the road. The desert air was cool and clear, and the stars shone like a million diamonds in the velvety sky above, no city lights to compete with their brightness. While Slade pored over maps, Johnny stretched out beside the small campfire and stared up at the twinkling lights, recognizing the familiar constellations of Orion and the Big Dipper. Down in Nether-earth there were different stars, different names for the shapes and legends that formed the universe of the Demon Realm. There was the constellation Gorgon, the Snake Devil who had wrestled with an angel and won by tickling his opponent's foot with his forked tongue. Or the Great Chalice, which in myth appeared in the sky over Nether-Earth and poured blood onto the barren ground, bringing life to the world. So much Johnny had learned in his six months, and there was still so much more he wanted to know.

Blaze reached into his pocket and pulled out the watch that Blackheart had lent him. He studied it fondly, clicked open the cover and looked guiltily at the frozen hands and the jagged lightning-bolt crack that ran down its glass face. The date was frozen on August 8th, the day he'd left San Diablo. How much time had passed in Nether-earth? He had no way of knowing now. Blackheart must be worried about him . . . or mad as hell.

Either way, Johnny couldn't wait to sort out this mess with his long-lost brother and go home. He missed Blackheart, missed the sound of his voice, that deep seamless murmur, missed the sound of his laughter, missed the sight of his smile, the blue of his eyes, the lump of his belly, the feel of his skin, the coolness of his hands, the sight of the gold ring on his finger that said "I belong to you, Johnny" even though their marriage was nothing but a game. Johnny could pretend. He didn't want to be part of reality anymore, not if it meant that there was nothing between himself and Blackheart — and he knew there was something. There had to be. He'd felt it when he'd said goodbye to the demon at the gate, and so many other times before. If he didn't love Blackheart, even just a little, then he had never loved anything at all.

_Just hang on, Bee_, thought Johnny, dangling the watch on its chain. _I'll be home soon. Don't you worry about me — I'll be fine. You just take care of our son, and when I get home, I swear I'll never leave you again unless you tell me to. I miss you, Blackheart._ Johnny smiled to himself. _Mr Blackheart Blaze._

"Nice watch," Carter commented, spitting fresh tobacco juice into the fire, causing it to hiss.

Johnny jolted out of his daydream and quickly covered the watch in his hand. "Uh. Thanks."

"Gift?"

"Y-yeah. Well, um, actually I'm just borrowing it."

"Watch ain't much good when it's broken."

"I know . . ."

"Kinda like a heart."

Blaze turned to stare at Carter from across the crackling orange fire. The old caretaker stared back, a worried smile forming beneath his bushy white mustache. "You've got the look."

"What look?"

"The look of a man who's just had his heart trampled by wild horses."

"My heart's just fine."

"Really? 'Cause I can hear it singin' the blues from here. Maybe it's somethin' we heavenly agents can pick up on, but I know you've got some hurt goin' on, Johnny. I'm here if there's anything you wanna get off your chest. Talkin' about it can help."

"It won't help _me_," Johnny muttered.

Slade shrugged. "If that's the way you want it. I just feel bad sittin' here while you pine away and pay no mind to our mission."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blaze snapped, sitting upright.

"I mean your heart and your mind ain't where they should be." Carter cocked his head and nodded toward Johnny's hand. "And I bet that ring you're wearin's got a whole lotta somethin' to do with it."

Johnny slapped his right hand over his left hand to hide the ring from view, but he could feel its coolness tingle against his skin. He knew he shouldn't have taken off his gloves.

"Didn't know you'd gotten hitched," Slade said casually, leaning back against a rock. "Guess you and your girl found a way to sort things out, huh?"

Johnny shook his head, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground.

"Not her, then?"

Head shook again.

A brief pause. When Slade spoke, he sounded hesitant. "This ain't got nothin' to do with you being in Hell all this time, does it?"

Johnny nodded.

"Good goddamn." Carter sat up with alarm. "Don't tell me you're married to one of _them_."

Johnny nodded.

The old cowboy passed his hand over his eyes in a gesture of disbelief. "Oh, Johnny. What in the sam hell were you thinkin'? You was forced into it, right? Ain't no way you'd ever agree to somethin' as terrible as that . . . would you?"

Blaze let out a long sigh. It was time to tell the truth. "You wanna know why I didn't want to chase down Danny Ketch? Because those two bastard angels sent some kind of heavenly hit squad after Blackheart."

"Yeah, the Wolf Brothers. I knew that," Slade nodded. "They're bad news, some of Heaven's meanest bounty hunters . . . But what's all this got to do with Blackheart? Why do _you _care what happens to him?"

"Because I'm married to him, Carter, and he's pregnant with my son."

If the Caretaker weren't already dead, he probably would have died of a stroke right then and there. Instead, he sat as still as a statue and stared at Johnny with implacable horror on his old, leathery face. "Jesus, God, Mary, Joseph and Lucifer," he uttered at last. "You mean Frank and Myrve were right? That soulless sack of pure evil is gonna give birth to the second Antichrist?"

"That wasn't his plan — and he's not pure evil, Slade, he's just a misguided kid."

"He's the son of the Devil!" Carter exclaimed. "Or had you forgotten that, Bonehead?"

Johnny scowled. "I've been in Nether-earth for six months. I've forgotten a lot of things."

The older man combed back his silver hair worriedly. "Don't tell me you've traded sides, Johnny."

"I haven't. I've just gained a new perspective on things. My eyes have been opened."

"And now all you see is Blackheart." Slade shook his head. "God Almighty . . . How did it happen?"

"It . . . Well, it was all a mistake at first. Blackheart put a spell on me, kidnapped me and brought me to San Diablo. I don't remember any of it, but he said he forced himself on me in order to knock himself up."

Carter facepalmed and groaned at the thought.

"A month later we got married, and I came out of the spell." Johnny smiled slightly, remembering the first days of his new life. "God, we fought like cats and dogs. I even pushed him down the stairs — I wasn't thinking — and when I saw what I'd done to him . . ." He trailed off and looked at his old companion. "He married me so that his father would be forced to pass the throne of Hell on to him. He got himself pregnant to give me a family; payment if I stayed out of his plans for world domination. I agreed."

Johnny picked up a stick and idly stirred the coals of the campfire, staring into the flames. "We've been through so much since then: camping trips of doom, wild mushroom fiascoes, psychotic witches, colossal fiancées, gladiator fights, mood swings, baby showers, teen-life crises, demonic hedgehog transformations, Adolf Hitler . . ."

The grin on his face faded. "Then we found out that our marriage isn't even real since I wasn't of sound mind when I signed the license. I was still under the spell, and that essentially nullifies everything." He raised his eyes to Slade, deep with sorrow and shadow. "And now Blackheart could be in danger, and there's nothing I can do to help him."

Slade stared hard at Blaze for a few silent moments, an unsettling look of shock deepening in his old eyes. "You're in love with him," he stated with disbelief.

Johnny nodded.

"Are you sure? Really and truly sure?"

Johnny nodded.

The grizzled old cowboy laid his forehead in his hand and sighed.

"Look," Blaze said hastily, "you can think whatever you want about me, I don't give a damn, but you have to understand that I wanna finish this job and get back home as soon as possible. I wanna be there when my son is born, and it's already been ten days here on Earth. I don't even know how much time has passed in Hell, but-"

"Ten days here?" Slade interrupted, raising his head. "That's about three months there."

Johnny drew back, mortified. "Three _months_!?"

"How far along was he when you left?"

"Six months — oh God, he could be having the baby any day now!" Johnny jumped to his feet and pulled on his jacket.

Carter sat up in alarm. "What're you doing?"

"I'm gonna find my asshole brother and get this shit over with!" Blaze snarled, dropping into Grace's seat.

The Caretaker put his hat on his head and scrambled to his feet. "Hang on a minute, hotshot! You can't just-"

The motorcycle coughed and rumbled to life, then the rumble turned into a roar as a sheet of fire washed over its chassis and rider, leaving them in the form of the Hellcycle and the Ghost Rider.

Slade stood by in awe as the flaming skeleton turned to face him. "What are you waiting for?" Zarathos growled. "Let's ride." In a puff of dust and brimstone, he took off down the dark desert highway like a torch on wheels.

Carter cursed under his breath as he kicked dirt into the campfire and climbed into Banshee's saddle. With a click of his tongue, the horse whinnied and they both took on their ghostly appearance. The old cowboy dug his spurs into his steed's side, causing him to rear up and take off at a speed impossible for even the fastest horse on Earth to match.

The smoldering coals of the campfire darkened in the night and the wind carried its fading smoke eastward over the desert terrain. It drifted slowly on its way, thinning and dissipating until only a thin ribbon remained of the trace of two otherworldly men.

Suddenly, the faint trail of smoke that had risen into the air began to swirl and rotate, and moments later the air itself took on a human-shaped form.

Abigor stared across the vacant desert, sniffing the barely-noticeable remnants of smoke. "Fire," he murmured. "And brimstone . . ." He called down toward the ground, "I think I've picked up his trail!"

A patch of ground rumbled, dust and dirt rising up to form a man-shaped pillar. Gressil turned his eyes toward Abigor floating in the air above him. "I can hear something in the ground, too!"

A well opened in the soil near Gressil and Wallow stuck his watery head into the night air. "I've got nothing — it's too fucking dry down here."

A swarm of flies surged over the water-elemental's head, joining Abigor in the sky. Beelzebub's shape materialized out of the buzzing insects. "I can feel a presence," he muttered, staring across the horizon. "Too powerful to be a poltergeist." He narrowed his eyes, peering through the night with clarity. "Is that a road?"

"I think so," Abigor answered, squinting toward the west. "Do you think the Rider . . .?"

"I don't know," Beelzebub said, "but we should follow."

"Can't we rest?" Wallow whined from below. "We've been hunting nonstop for almost two weeks already — we've gone over a hundred miles just today! I can't take another minute of traveling underground!"

"Then let Abigor carry you," the archdemon snapped. "We're not stopping until we find Johnny."

"Aw, but Abigor is-"

"WE'RE NOT STOPPING UNTIL WE FIND JOHNNY, NOW SHUT UP AND FALL IN!"

Wallow recoiled in terror at Beelzebub's burst of fury, but obediently heeded his lord's instructions. Abigor swooped down and together he and Wallow formed a soggy mist that flowed toward the highway in the distance. Gressil melted back into the earth and resumed his task, and Beelzebub heaved a weary sigh as he disappeared in a cloud of flies. The demons traveled onward through the night, exhausted but determined, hoping that their search was nearing an end.

† † †

_Friday, October 30th  
After midnight_

Morningstar Manor was dark and quiet, the majority of its occupants asleep for the night. Only a few of the outside guards remained up, patrolling the premises and keeping silent watch. From the outside, the stately mansion's windows were dark and empty . . . save one.

Mephistopheles sat at the desk in his study, dressed in his robe and loafers with a pair of reading glasses perched upon the end of his nose. He looked tired and lackluster, much how everybody else at the Manor was feeling these days. Already August had turned into October by Nether-earth reckoning, and the Devil had decided to get a head start on his end-of-the-year reports, as well as look over last-minute schedules of events for the Independence Day celebration on Saturday — also known as October 31st, Halloween.

Hell's Independence Day occurs several times during one human year, but only once per demon year. It's a very special occasion where the borders between the mortal world and Nether-earth open up, allowing demons to come and go as they please without the need for prior permission from His Infernal Majesty. This usually results in catastrophes and huge amounts of mayhem and destruction on Earth, but in Hell the atmosphere is much like Mardi Gras — filled with celebration, merriment and fun . . . if you're a fan of evil.

Mephisto couldn't say that he was in the mood to party, no matter how much Courtney tried to cheer him up. With Johnny still missing, nobody in the family felt like having fun, not even Beeves, and he was supposed to have the day off. It was a depressing situation, and it only grew more depressing with each day that Johnny was gone. How they were going to get by without the mortal man was a question that every demon in Morningstar Manor was asking himself — and there was still no way of answering it.

The Lord of Hell scribbled report outlines listlessly and sighed while the grandfather clock across the wall ticked and tocked in the quiet, lonely room. Then something odd caught his attention.

Mephisto raised his head and slowly removed his glasses. The scent of something delicious wafted past his nose, and he rose from his chair with a slight groan. Was somebody cooking? But it was the middle of the night — the head chef had turned in hours ago. With a tired yawn, the Lord of Hell picked up his cane and decided to investigate.

† † †

Blackheart was just putting a pan of sweet potato soufflé into the oven when Mephisto stepped into the large kitchen reserved for the cooking staff at the Manor. He clicked on the lights and stared into the broad room: covered dishes and trays and casseroles and bubbling crock pots covered every inch of the counter. Every eyelet of all four stoves had a pot on it, and scraps of vegetables, potato skins, flour, mixing bowls, whisks, measuring cups and an encyclopedia of cutting knives lay scattered throughout the kitchen.

And in the middle of it all, bustling around Adolf Hitler's vegetarian cookbook, was Blackheart, nine months pregnant and positively, undeniably out of his mind.

"Son?" Mephisto ventured, taking a cautious step forward.

Blackheart ignored him and continued to stir a bowl of batter with all his might. He looked frantic, distraught, and manic beyond all belief.

"Blackheart, what are you doing, boy? It's late. You should be asleep."

"Couldn't sleep," the prince said quickly. He set down the bowl and started working on a blob of dough with a rolling pin.

"What's with all this?" Mephisto asked, gesturing to the trove of food laid out. "Did somebody die?"

"Gotta cook. Winter's coming. Baby, too. Need to store up. No time to waste," Blackheart answered, never tearing his eyes from his work. Even though he was wearing an apron, his black clothes were covered in flour and sauce and broth and vegetable shortening and all manner of stains. And despite the cumbersome size of his belly, he darted with surprising speed from one task to another.

Mephisto watched his son as if he were observing a schizophrenic at a mental institution. "Son," he said slowly, "why don't you take a break and, uh . . . come sit with me?"

Blackheart shook his head. His dark hair was ruffled and sticking up in chunks, a positive mess. It made him look even more like a lunatic. "Can't. Gotta cook. Need to store up."

"Blackheart."

"Need to work. Take my mind off it. Can't think about it."

"Think about what?"

"Stay busy. Stay sane. Nobody else eats my soup. He did. Bad mushrooms. Too much moon, not enough honey. He said he'd take care of me. Most important thing."

Mephisto listened to his son babble, growing more and more certain that Blackheart had gone off the deep end. He was grieving, that much was obvious, but there was something else. This erratic, hyperactive behavior; this obsessive cooking; the meaningless chatter . . .

Or was it?

"Blackheart, is this about Johnny?"

"Who's Johnny? Not me. Johnny's not home right now, don't leave a message and he'll never come back at the beep. BEEP. Was that the oven? I think the tofu-loaf is done."

Mephisto slowly lowered himself onto a stool and passed his hand over his face. It was official. His son had gone insane.

"Blackheart. Blackheart, kiddo, are you listening to me?"

"I hear you. We both hear you. Isn't that right, Damien?"

Oh dear.

Mephisto looked around the huge kitchen. "Um . . . Who's Damien, son?"

"Damien's me. Damien's half me. Half him." Blackheart started hacking away at a head of lettuce. The chopping knife flashed dangerously. "Halves and wholes and hearts of romaine. Hearts of black. Me-hearts. Damienheart. I hate the name, you know, but I gave up. Don't care anymore. So he's Damien. The middle is you, Dad. I call it Luciferous. Isn't that nice?"

Mephisto watched shreds of lettuce scatter across the granite counter and suddenly he understood.

"Damien? Is that the name you decided for the baby?"

"Damien Luciferous. He needed a name. Johnny said so. I've been thinking about it for weeks and days and weeks and weeks . . ."

"Blackheart, when was the last time you slept?"

"Who needs to? I don't. Four days last Tuesday. I'm on a roll. Everything is. No word from Bubba. Still waiting. Can't sleep. Wanna be awake when he comes back."

"Beelzebub? Do you know where he's gone, Blackheart? I haven't seen him in over a month. Do you know what's happened to him? Why is he missing?"

Blackheart shook his head and started spooning sugar into a pot of simmering pinto beans. "Why not? Everybody else left. There's no last name. Just Damien Luciferous. Plain old Damien, D-A-M-N-I-E-N. No Blaze. No end. No close. No closure."

"Blackheart-"

"No closure! Nothing! Just gone!"

"Son, I think you're-"

"GONE! Aaaahhhhhhhhh!"

And then the fever of madness broke with a long, dying wail. Blackheart dropped everything with a startling clatter and sank down into a corner by the cabinets, holding his head in his floury hands and moaning lowly. The white powder dusted his jet black hair like sugar.

Mephisto hobbled to his feet and kneeled down by his son's side. "Blackheart! Are you alright, boy? Say something!"

The Prince of Hell raised his puffy, bloodshot eyes to his father. "Oh, Dad," he croaked. "I wanna die."

"No you don't," he shushed, "you're just saying that."

"No I'm not. I'm gonna die giving birth to a monster. I want you to kill me now. Go on, take a butcher knife and hit me in the neck right here-"

"Stop it," Mephisto ordered, grabbing his son by the shoulders and giving him a hard shake. "You stop talking like that. You need to sleep, Blackheart."

"But I can't. I've gotta cook and-"

"No more cooking. You're going to bed now."

"I don't wanna sleep. I can feel it moving all night long."

"The baby? That's good, Blackheart. You want to feel him move."

"No I don't. It's going to kill me."

"Be quiet. I don't want to hear anything more from you. Come on, off the floor. That's it."

With a whimper of defeat, Blackheart allowed his father to help him to his feet. Mephisto put his arm around his son's slim shoulders and gently led him upstairs, talking to him soothingly and explaining that culinary insanity is no way to solve emotional problems.

"You just need to stop thinking about the past," he lectured quietly as they made their way through the dark halls. "The future is what matters. Pretty soon you're going to be a father, and you're going to have a lot of responsibility on your hands-"

"Don't rub it in!" Blackheart snapped, blowing his nose and wiping away his tears. "It's like you actually enjoy reminding me that I'm all on my own now-"

"I'm just trying to-"

"Well, don't! You're only making things worse!" Blackheart winced and put a hand on his stomach. "Nnnghhh," he moaned.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Just a . . . cramp."

Mephisto led Blackheart through the door to the prince's room and helped him into bed, pulling the covers over him and laying a hand on his son's pale forehead. "Everything's going to be alright, Blackie," he said with a smile. "I promise."

Blackheart turned his face away. "I've heard that line before," he muttered. "You're a fool if you think I'm going to believe in a promise ever again."

Mephisto let his smile fade. "I know you're going through some difficult times. Maybe if you got out and joined the celebration tomorrow night, it would make you feel better."

Blackheart said nothing; he rolled over onto his side with his back toward his father and ignored him — what did _he_ know about difficult times?

The Devil turned away with a sigh and limped quietly from the room, leaving his son alone in the darkness.

Blackheart lay in bed with his eyes open, staring into space and thinking about the hell that his life had become . . . and clenching his teeth as another wave of pain flowed through his stomach. This baby was going to be the death of him, he knew it. He'd had dreams about it, and his dreams were never wrong. He'd dreamt that Johnny would leave him, and he did. He'd dreamt that his life was a ruin from which he couldn't escape, and that's exactly what it had become. He'd dreamt that he was going to die giving birth to a deformed monster, and what reason did he have not to believe it? He'd accepted it.

Any day now, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next, he was going to be dead, and all of the people whose lives he'd ruined — Johnny, his father — would be relieved.

They wouldn't miss him. They never really loved him, after all. Nobody had. Nobody could. He was a freak and a failure, a fool of a demon who had never accomplished anything and whose stupid illusions of grandeur and plans for power always, _always _fell through. Nether-earth would be better off without him. His father would be better off without him. And Johnny, the man he thought he had loved . . .

Blackheart stared at the gold ring he still wore and swallowed the lump in his throat.

_So much for that._

The prince slowly sat up with a grunt and crawled out of bed. He went to his closet and got dressed, pulling on a long black coat and his black boots. He paused to gaze at his reflection in the full length mirror, and was reminded of how powerfully he hated himself.

_Why wait? _he thought, crossing the room. _The sooner I go away, the sooner they can start forgetting about me._

Blackheart gently twisted the wedding ring from his finger and set it on the table beside his bed. It sat there, a lonely golden icon of what could have been.

"Bye," he whispered. And then he turned away.

He left the Manor that night, slipping away like the ghost he'd already become, and wished for the last time that things could have been different, knowing in the depths of his broken heart that wishing was for fools.

† † †

On the wind-battered plain of Limbo, the realm between Earth and Hell, three figures emerged on the horizon, starting out as four-legged silhouettes that gradually shifted into two-legged forms. The three brothers stood tall, their long coats billowing and swirling around them. They were dressed for cold weather, though the green sky above foretold no ice or snow. One carried a sword on his belt; the other a whip; the last a set of knives. Though their scraggly, uncombed hair was different colors, their eyes were the same: yellow-green, feral, predatory.

They strode across the barren wasteland, approaching the large black wall that went on for miles in both directions, endless and impenetrable. They stopped before its massive shape, staring up at it in challenge.

"The gate is sealed," said the one with the reddish hair.

"Don't worry," answered the one with the black hair, grinning to himself. "Soon it will open and we can slip in without detection."

"Hn," scoffed the brunette, fiddling with one of his knives. "What good is a gate if you leave it hanging open every Halloween?"

"Not good at all, especially if you're the Prince of Hell."

The wind whipped past the three men, carrying their wicked laughter across the flat terrain of Limbo.

The Wolf Brothers had come.

**To Be Continued...**


	11. The Race Against Time

_**Last time on **_**Wedlocked**_**:**_

_Beelzebub told Blackheart to keep his faith in Johnny alive, and rounded up the Hidden for a trip to Earth to find the missing Johnny Blaze._

_Meanwhile on Earth, Johnny and the ghost of Carter Slade, now acting as an angelic agent for the Sacred Bureau of Investigation, are hot on Danny Ketch's trail through the North American desert. They stop to rest after ten solid days on the road, and Carter finds out the real reason why Johnny's been hanging around in San Diablo. The caretaker is shocked to learn that his protégé is actually in love with the preggo Prince of Hell, but that pales in comparison to the shock Johnny receives when he finds out that nearly three months have passed in the time he's been on Earth, and Blackheart could be having the baby any day now!_

_Now maniacally inspired to find his long-lost brother and whip the other Ghost Rider into obedience, Johnny sets out on the road again with Carter Slade in tow. Not far from their campsite the Hidden and Beelzebub appear, tired but determined to find Johnny. Sensing that they're closing in on him, they hit the trail again._

_At Morningstar Manor, Blackheart has gone insane from loneliness, insomnia, and the idea of being a single parent, and not even his father's words of comfort can ease his pain. Mephisto puts his wreck of a son to bed, but Blackheart can't sleep — deluded by dreams of giving birth to a monster baby and dying in the process, Blackheart puts on his coat and leaves Morningstar Manor, knowing that he won't return alive. The only trace he leaves behind is his wedding ring, a token of a love that almost was._

_Meanwhile in the intermediate area between Earth and Nether-earth, the realm known as Limbo, the Wolf Brothers arrive to fulfill their mission as requested by Heaven: destroy the child that the Prince of Hell plans to "unleash upon the human world". Though the massive wall bars them from entering Nether-earth, on Independence Day (October 31st) the gates will open to allow demons free passage between Hell and Earth . . . and that is how the Wolf Brothers plan to infiltrate San Diablo. And now, harpies and hellions, the next chapter in this epically ridiculous tale!_

**Chapter 11: The Race Against Time**

The darkened streets of West Valley City were quiet and deserted, and aside from the stray cat or odd bum shuffling between the alleyways, no other soul was to be seen. One particular bum, an addled old drunk by the name of Lester, stumbled out onto Main Street, muttering incoherently to himself and pausing only to toss back the bottle of booze in his fist.

The unmistakable sound of an approaching motorcycle didn't faze Old Lester until the loudness finally caught his attention. It sounded like a rocket or some kind of jet engine, downshifting with the power of a thunderclap. Lester raised his head and squinted his bleary eyes down the street, whose flatness allowed for greater sight. In the distance he saw a glowing light, not like a headlight, but more of a fire.

"What the-?"

In a matter of seconds the mysterious vehicle was in full view, and Lester's snaggle-tooth mouth fell open.

It was motorcycle-shaped, but it didn't look like any motorcycle Lester had ever seen. Its wheels were on fire, for one thing, and it was leaving a trail of blue flames down the center of the road. The body of the bike seemed mutated, huge, more of a weapon than a mode of transportation. But it was the sight of the rider that made Lester drop his Jim Beam onto the street, the shatter of glass insignificant compared to the horror that was approaching:

A man on fire — no, a skeleton — dressed in denim and leather and howling with laughter like a madman. Spikes and buckles and chains flashed silver under the street lights. Hot blue flames rolled off of the bleached white skull, whose bottomless eyes burned like the coals of Hell itself.

"Holy MOLY!" Lester shouted, throwing himself into the gutter as the demonic biker blazed through the spot where he'd been standing only seconds before. He heard the evil, deep-throated laughter fade as the rider continued on before he finally disappeared into the night.

After a few dazed minutes, Lester pulled himself out of the gutter and stood swaying on his feet, blinking slowly, wondering if what he had just seen had been real. He shook his head. "I gotta quit the bottle," he grunted.

Then he heard a similar noise, coming from the same direction. Lester ducked behind a post box and peered cautiously from around it. He couldn't believe his eyes for the second time that night: a ghastly grinning skull, all black leather and steel, a small nucleus of wildfire consuming its form. It was another rider, just like the one before, and he was hauling ass down the street, leaving fiery trenches in the asphalt where the wheels touched, drowning out the blue flames with his red ones. However similar he seemed to the first rider, this bike was different — more evil than the first, if possible — and the fire engulfing it and its rider was as red as blood and hellfire. And beside this flaming apparition rode a man on a horse, white and foggy, the ghost of a long-dead cowboy.

They passed by Lester with a deafening roar of wind, igniting soggy newspapers and scattering their ashes up onto the sidewalk. Lester stared down the street where they disappeared into the night, nothing left but a trail of fire and cracked pavement.

"That's it," the old bum muttered, crawling away. "I'm goin' sober."

† † †

The two Riders blazed their way through the city with roaring engines and squealing tires of solid flame. The fleeing quarry was aware of his pursuer now, and with bursts of demonic laughter led him on a wild ride through the Utah night. He toyed with him, slowing until he was merely yards ahead, and then gunning the engine of his hellish machine, bringing the front wheel off the ground and exploding into the lead. Zarathos was beside himself with rage at the cockiness of this fiery blue demon, and gnashed his teeth with fury as he strove to catch up, pushing the Hellcycle to its limit. Slade fell behind, his ghostly steed unable to keep up with the astounding speed of his companion.

The world passed in blurs and sparks. Turns came suddenly, and one false move could send either of the Riders sliding into a realm of bone-splintering agony. Asphalt was smashed to crumbs. Scorched tire marks at intersections testified to the desperation of the blue Rider, who was quickly discovering that he could not shake the infuriated demon behind him so easily. He fled before Zarathos now, cutting sharp turns, barreling through parking lots, jumping curbs, anything to put distance between himself and his pursuer.

They burst out onto a stretch of open road, and Zarathos pulled his chain from off his shoulder. Keeping one hand firmly on the throttle, he leaned forward into the wind and began to swing his chain above his head, his eyes locked on the back of his prey. The Hellcycle inched closer. Closer. Gaining by precious centimeters, until Johnny's boots were getting licked by blue flames.

Now.

The red Rider grunted and threw the chain forward. It cracked on the rear fender of the blue Rider's bike, and he looked over his shoulder in shock. He tried to increase his speed, but Zarathos was ready and on the throttle, closing the space between them. He drew the chain back in again and leaned close to the handlebars, decreasing his resistance against the wind, and threw his chain once more. It wrapped itself around the engine manifold like an angry steel boa constrictor, and Zarathos laughed triumphantly as he slammed the Hellcycle to a stop.

The other bike came to a crashing halt, falling onto its side and sending up a shower of white sparks. Sir Isaac Newton tells us that an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by another force or object; Zarathos acted upon the bike, but not its Rider, and so the Rider kept moving. He flew over the handlebars with a roar of dismay and smashed into the ground hard enough to leave a cracked depression in the pavement. He rolled, tumbled, sideways and end-over-end, until at last he came to a standstill. The flames vanished, leaving the dark shape of a young man lying face down and unmoving on the pavement.

Zarathos retreated and the flesh of Johnny's face grew over his skull again. The fire igniting Grace disappeared, and so did the flames on other Rider's bike, revealing a shiny midnight-blue BMW K1200. But Johnny wasn't interested in motorcycles right now — he was focused on the body of his brother lying in the road.

"Oh shit," he uttered, chucking down the kickstand, dropping his chain, and jumping from his bike. "I killed him."

The rhythm of hooves sounded as Carter approached the scene: fire and fragments of asphalt littered the empty road out of West Valley, and as he took on his human form again he saw Johnny half-running toward a dark shape lying on the double yellow line. "Oh no," the caretaker murmured.

Johnny kneeled down and hesitated. He knew he shouldn't move someone who has just been in a crash, but he had to know if the rider was alive. Taking him gently by the shoulders of his worn leather jacket, Blaze lifted and rolled the young man over onto his back. He stared.

Danny Ketch's eyes were closed, his auburn-brown hair scattered over his sweaty, grit-speckled forehead. He wore a pair of black jeans that had faded to charcoal-gray from years of wear, black Doc Martens, and a white Brooklyn Dodgers T-shirt underneath a black leather bomber jacket. He had a bloody scrape on his cheek, road rash on his chin, and blood oozing from a deep cut on his brow. Even through these injuries Johnny could see a reflection of himself in this stranger: the same nose, the same jaw, the same chin.

"Daniel?" whispered Johnny, reaching out to brush the dark fringe of hair from his eyes. "Danny . . ."

Slade approached slowly, removing his hat with a solemn air.

Blaze hung his head, dangerously close to tears. "He's dead, Carter. I just killed the brother I never knew I had."

"Don't be so sure," the old cowboy grunted. "It'd take more than a spill to get rid of that demon." He stepped back cautiously, as if catching wind of something ominous. "Brace yourself."

"For what?"

Blue fire exploded under Johnny's face as the demon awoke once more. Danny's flesh burned away until the skeleton beneath was all that remained. In an instant Zarathos resurfaced, saving Johnny from a punch that would have taken his head off. The red Rider reeled from the powerful blow, but grabbed his opponent's fist before he could pull it back. Zarathos snarled and heaved forward, sending his attacker sprawling backward across the ragged pavement. The blue Rider scrambled to his feet and started to make a run for his bike, but Zarathos was quicker — he grabbed the demon by the neck and whirled him in a half circle, hurling him into a metal lamp post across the street. The post bent with a shriek of metal and the blue Rider fell to the ground.

"Go easy on him, tiger," Slade said warningly as he watched Zarathos storm across the road toward the other demon. "That's your brother under there, you know!"

"I know," grunted Johnny as he reached down and hauled the blue Rider off the ground by his jacket collar. He held him up as if he weighed nothing, and stared into the burning cobalt sockets with his own crimson ones. "Why are you here?"

The other demon growled lowly and said nothing. Zarathos gave him a spine-rattling shake. "WHY DID YOU POSSESS THIS MAN?"

At this the flaming blue skeleton laughed. "This man possessed _me_," he guttered. "I was awoken to serve him."

"You have shed innocent blood," said Zarathos, tightening his grip. "There will be a reckoning."

"You cannot punish me," replied the demon with a chuckle. "You are just another Rider."

Carter recoiled as Zarathos bellowed, red flames flaring up as if he'd just been doused with lighter fluid.

"ANOTHER RIDER!" seethed Zarathos. "I AM BOUND IN WEDLOCK TO HIS INFERNAL HIGHNESS, THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS AND THE LORD OF DEMONS. HIS POWER IS MY POWER, AND YOU SHALL OBEY ME AS YOU SHALL OBEY HIM — THE PRINCE OF HELL, YOUR ROYAL MASTER!"

Though skulls aren't capable of expression, the fear that took hold of the blue Rider was unmistakable.

"NEVER AGAIN WILL YOU RISE WITHOUT CONSENT, NOR DO WHAT YOUR HUMAN HOST FORBIDS. IF YOU DO, THERE WILL BE DIRE CONSEQUENCES. UNDERSTAND?"

The demon whimpered in defeat and fled, leaving behind the small groggy form of Danny Ketch hanging from Zarathos' clutches.

"Danny!" cried Johnny, and abruptly returned to his human form . . . which had only a fraction of the Ghost Rider's strength. Danny plummeted from Johnny's hands and crashed onto the curb. "Oh God, I'm sorry! Are you okay? I'm so sorry about that."

Danny sat up with a moan and rubbed the back of his head. "What happened?" he asked, his voice clean and young, devoid of any accent, unlike Johnny's slight Texas twang. "Where am I?"

Johnny crouched down beside his brother. "Are you alright? Is anything broken?"

"No, I'm okay . . ." He raised his head and looked at Johnny for the first time. "Who the hell are you?"

Johnny felt a grin grow on his lips. "I'm Jonathan Harley Blaze," he said. "And you?"

A funny look crossed the young man's face. "Daniel Davidson Ketch."

"Davidson?" Johnny repeated.

Danny murmured, "Harley . . . Davidson . . ."

Brother and brother stared at each other. It seemed strikingly apparent that their father had been more than a motorcycle enthusiast: he had been the ultimate HOG fanboy.

Carter strode over, smiling from ear to ear. "Looks like you fellahs got a lotta catchin' up to do."

† † †

_Friday, October 30th  
San Diablo_

The mid-afternoon sun was shining dimly behind the red and black clouds when Mephisto finally finished the rest of his paperwork and stood from his desk. He turned to stare out the window at the lovely infernal day. The air was spicy with smoke, sprinkled with ash, and the flowering trees were in full flame. Cheerful little bats nestled together under the ledges of gargoyles, and red butterflies fluttered between the bushes of ebony-colored roses in the front garden. Such a beautiful day.

The Devil smiled sadly to himself. He remembered how reluctant at first Johnny had been to go outside on days like this; terrified of suffocating or getting rabies from the bats . . . Then, when he realized that the smoke would not singe his half-demon lungs and that the bats were as tame as songbirds, he ventured outdoors and reveled in his new surroundings.

_Ah, Johnny_, wondered Mephisto, _I hope you're alright. I know my people are no substitute for human companions, but we tried our best. We couldn't have been that bad_ . . .

He sighed. _I wish you were back with us. Only you know how to fix Blackheart._

He stared out the window for another minute before turning back to his desk and pressing a button on his phoneset. "Courtney? Call Blackheart and see if he's up yet. I was thinking we could go visit the royal gardens today."

"You know he won't want to go, hon," came Courtney's melodious voice over the speaker.

"I know, but I thought I'd try."

"Okay. Just a minute."

A minute passed, then Courtney came back on:

"He's not answering. He must have already woken up."

"At _this_ hour of the afternoon?"

"You want me to try the kitchen?"

Mephisto leaned on his desk, a troubling feeling settling into the pit of his stomach. "Sure, sweetie. And try the rec room. He might be in there."

But Blackheart was not in the rec room, nor was he in the kitchen, nor was he in the bathroom, the libraries, the main hall, the dining rooms, the conservatory, the lounges, the sunroom, the indoor pool, the spa, the gym, the ballroom, the armory, the indoor movie theater, the chapel (satanic, naturally), the formal parlor, the informal parlor, the music room, the billiard room, the museum, the dungeons, the wine cellar, the attic, the kennel, or Beelzebub's apartment. He was not to be found on any of the six floors of Morningstar Manor.

By the time evening rolled around, the entire staff was desperately searching every nook and cranny of the massive mansion and coming up empty-handed.

Mephisto walked numbly through the halls as maids and butlers rushed back and forth before and behind him, coordinating with each other frantically. Courtney followed at his side, reading off a list of the rooms that had been checked twice already and the ones that were still awaiting a second inspection.

"-the vineyard has been searched, no sign of him there, but the groundskeepers still haven't finished combing the west end of the Manor property. Let's see. None of the vehicles were missing out of the garage, so he must be nearby or he's gone someplace on foot. Um . . . We've still got to check the servants' quarters and the poolhouse, but after that there's no other-"

"Forget it," Mephisto murmured, his cane tapping on the floor as he walked. "He's not here."

Courtney looked worried. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he's not here. We need to stop wasting time looking around when we know he's left the Manor."

"We know he's left the Manor?"

"_I_ do. He's not well, Courtney. I think he's snapped. You should have seen him last night — he was like a mental patient, cooking all sorts of vegetarian crap and babbling about monster babies . . ."

Mephisto pushed through the door to Blackheart's bedroom. It was still a disaster area, having not been cleaned for the past three months. Broken lamps and curtain rods and strewn books covered the floor.

Mephisto stopped, looked around and sighed. "Oh, Blackheart," he whispered, surveying the destruction. "How many times have I told you to clean your room?"

Courtney tapped her lips with her finger, puzzled. "Um, Mephy, what are we doing here?"

"Looking for clues."

"Clues?"

"Yes. Clues. Scooby Dooby Doo, we've got some work to do now." He shooed her away and began scanning the room like a crime scene investigator. (_CSI: San Diablo_ was a very popular television program in Hell.) "Look for anything. A note, footprints, blood, missing objects, anything that might-"

"A ring?"

Mephisto stopped mid-sentence and turned. Courtney was standing beside the bed, staring at something on the nightstand. "It looks like Blackheart's ring," she repeated.

He moved forward. "Which one? The silver one he wears on his pinky, or the-"

"The gold one, the wedding ring."

"What?"

Courtney picked up the golden wedding band and held it up for Mephisto to see. The Devil's expression slowly melted into one of helpless fear. "Oh no," he uttered.

"What is it? What's the matter?" Courtney asked, becoming afraid when she saw the look on her boss's face.

"He's given up," said Mephisto quietly. "On everything." He took the ring from his secretary, stared at it in silence, then closed his hand and strode quickly from the room. Courtney rushed after him as best as she could in heels and a mini skirt, stumbling over debris.

"Is this a bad sign?" she asked.

"Yes," the Devil answered. "If we don't find him in 24 hours, we may never see him again."

Courtney trotted down the corridor at Mephisto's side. "Do you think he might be suicidal?"

"Maybe. But Blackheart's an incorrigible coward; I doubt he'd have the guts to go through with it. He loves himself too much to commit suicide."

"Would he cross the border? It just opened this evening for the holiday visitors."

"No, I don't think he's stupid enough to do that. In his condition it might kill him as well as the baby."

"Are we going to send out a search party, then?"

"Absolutely not. The last thing we need is everybody in San Diablo knowing that he's missing. We'll gather the archdemons and look for him ourselves."

"But-! But the Independence Day celebration is tomorrow night!" Courtney cried, looking at her clipboard. "You're scheduled to make the opening speech and-"

"Let Beelzebu — wait, he's missing, too. Damn! Ask Dagon to do it."

"But Lord Dagon has agoraphobia!"

"I don't care if he's got _arachnophobia_, sign him up!" Mephisto shouted.

Courtney cringed. "Okay. But . . . what are _you_ going to do?"

The Devil paused at the stairs and slipped the ring into his pocket. He gazed at his secretary with steady, determined eyes. "I'm going to find my son while I still have one."

† † †

"A long time ago," Slade said, "a hunnerd years even before my time, there was a man named Noble Kale. He was an ancestor of you boys, and the one who brought the curse of the Ghost Rider down on your family."

Johnny and Danny sat on their bikes, looking very much like brothers as they listened to Carter's tale.

"As the story goes, Kale's father was a man of the cloth, but he had a lot of demons. He drank too much, gambled his family into debt, and he had a vicious temper. He liked beatin' his wife and slappin' his two sons around if they got in the way. He was also a powerful bigot. So when Noble, his eldest son, fell in love with a colored girl, Pastor Kale went to the magistrate and accused her of witchcraft."

Carter paused to spit tobacco juice onto the pavement. Johnny and Danny leaned on their handlebars, all eyes and ears.

"They didn't have a proper justice system back in those days, for women or colored folk or the poor. So they burned that poor girl at the stake and forced Noble to watch." Carter took off his hat and shook his head sadly. "He went mad with grief. That night after the burning, Noble kneeled in his lover's ashes and called on her spirit to help him avenge her death."

He paused, gazing at the two young men solemnly. "I don't know whether it was love or rage that set Noble's heart of fire, but when he summoned her spirit, he got more than what he bargained for."

"The Devil," Danny whispered. Johnny turned in surprise

Slade nodded. "Mephistopheles himself answered Noble's call, it was that powerful of a prayer. Mephisto agreed to help Noble avenge his girl's untimely death if he would sacrifice his life — and soul — by fire. The love in Noble's heart was so fierce that he agreed; he soaked himself in kerosene and put a lit match to his coat. They say he didn't make a sound, even as he was burnin' alive, skin blisterin' and boilin'."

"God," Johnny breathed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He could understand loving someone enough to die for them. It was a lesson he'd only recently learned.

Carter spat again. "He burned until nothing but his skeleton remained, and Mephisto breathed the power of Hell into the remains. Noble became a monster of fire and bone, the Ghost Rider, driven by a thirst for vengeance, and he descended upon the town that night on horseback, destroying those who had drawn innocent blood. It was a massacre, and the Devil just sat back and watched his new bounty hunter collect the souls of the damned. Just before dawn, with bodies lyin' dead in the streets and the town burnt to ashes, Noble finally found his father."

Carter waited. Danny leaned forward. "And he killed him, right?"

"Worse," Slade muttered. "He gave the Pastor a dose of his own medicine."

"The Penance Stare," said Johnny.

"None other. Once Noble had punished his father for every life he'd ruined, he left him and returned to the place where his girl had been burned. Avenged at last, Noble shed tears for his lost love. But he didn't have much time to grieve, 'cause Mephisto returned to claim his soul . . . Then something strange happened."

"What?" both Johnny and Danny asked.

Carter grinned knowingly. "Noble was saved by an angel."

"No way," said Danny.

"Was it his girl?" Johnny asked.

"I don't know," answered Slade, "but Mephisto and the angel struck a deal. Noble was given a second chance to live his life, and he did. He lived and died like an ordinary man, but upon his death his soul was sent to Purgatory, where it waits until it's needed. Any ancestor of his who carries his blood is given the power to call forth Noble's soul, the Spirit of Vengeance, and punish those who had done him wrong."

Carter put his hat back on and gave Banshee a gentle pat.

Johnny and Danny were quiet, mesmerized by the tale. "So," Johnny started, "are you . . . Are you related to _us_, Carter?"

"Not quite," the old cowboy answered with a smile. "Mephistopheles used Zarathos to enslave me, not Kale's soul. Only the family has that power."

"That explains Danny," agreed Blaze. "But what about me? Why have I got Zarathos and family ties?"

"You're a special case, Johnny. Danny here is a natural-born Ghost Rider," Slade said, gesturing to the younger man. "But so are you. And when you made that deal with Mephistopheles, you got bound to Zarathos as well as a part of Noble's ghost. You've got the blood in your body and the fire in your soul, which makes you a hundred times more powerful than any Ghost Rider that has ever been."

Danny crossed his arms and put on a sulking face. "No wonder you scared my Rider into obedience. You're like, what, some kinda demon lord or something?"

"Yeah, I kinda _am_," said Johnny sharply. "And without me you'd still be riding around on a murdering rampage. You should thank me for whipping your Ghost into shape."

"Oh, I'm grateful. I just think it's unfair that you get power from ancestry _and_ a demon."

Blaze shook his head. "Trust me, if you only knew the shit I've been through . . ."

"Couldn't have been worse than what _I_ went through."

"Aw, bet you had a tough time in high school, huh?"

"I was home-schooled."

"I can tell. You're a real smartass."

Danny fumed. "Well at least I inherited all the good looks."

"What're you saying? We look almost exactly alike."

"But I don't have red hair."

"What's not to like about red hair?"

"One word: firecrotch."

Johnny scowled. "Kid, you're about two seconds away from really pissing me off."

"Ooh, I'm so fwightened!" mocked Danny. "Big bad Ghost Wider's gonna beat me up!"

Carter sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Family," he muttered. "Okay, boys. Calm down. We don't need no fightin' right now."

"I agree," Johnny snapped. "Arguing is for idiots."

"And you started it," Danny shot back.

"Shut up."

"_You_ shut up."

"Why don't you _both_ shut up," Slade suggested, "and tell me what the hell _that_ is." He raised his hand and pointed.

Johnny and Danny turned in their seats to see a deadly black cloud approaching from across the open desert. It was moving rapidly toward them ,against the breeze, almost buzzing with some sort of power.

"What is that?" Danny asked, fear in his eyes.

Johnny squinted. "I dunno, but it looks hellish."

"You can say that again."

"No. I mean. It looks like something I've seen in Hell."

Danny turned his head toward his brother. "You've been to Hell?"

"Been? I _live_ there."

"Seriously?"

"I told you before, weren't you paying attention?"

"I think I might've missed it when you were, uh, holding me off the ground by my neck."

"I wasn't holding your neck!"

"Yes you were!"

"No I wasn't!"

"Goddammit, you two!" Carter cursed, holding onto his hat as a mighty wind rushed down onto the street. Banshee reared up and whinnied with terror, and the caretaker had to grab his steed by the reins to keep him from running away.

Johnny and Danny shielded their eyes against the blast of sand, fog and flies that suddenly consumed them like a tornado. Blaze was taking it in stride — stranger things had happened — but Danny was panicking.

"What is this!?" he screamed. "I can't breathe!"

"You can breathe fine!" Johnny shouted to him. "Don't fight it!"

And then from the depths of the black maelstrom came a familiar voice: "Johnny? Is it really you?"

The whirlwind came to a stop. Silence descended. Danny sucked in a lungful of air and coughed. The sand and dust began to settle onto the asphalt. The flies gathered into a man-shaped pillar that stepped toward Johnny, gradually melting into the pale, worried face of a nerve-wracked archdemon.

"Johnny!" cried Beelzebub, grinning with triumph and relief.

"Bubba? What the-? You actually came _looking_ for me?" blurted Johnny, dismounting his bike and accepting an unexpected, massive glomp from the Lord of Flies.

Danny and Carter stared in awe, their jaws slack and eyes the size of pies.

Beelzebub pulled back and gripped Blaze's shoulders. "Of course we've been looking for you! Things are miserable down there without you. Where the hell have you been? Why didn't you come back?"

"It's a long story," sighed Johnny, meaning every word of it.

Movement over Beelzebub's shoulder caught Blaze's attention, and he was shocked to see the Hidden materialize out of thin air. They all looked haggard and worn, like bloodhounds who had been on the trail for too long. Abigor didn't even fully regain his form — his legs remained a missing, misty swirl. And Gressil's face was literally cracking from fatigue. "Thank Sod we've finally found you, Blaze!" he gasped, bending over and putting his hands on his knees.

Wallow wiped his watery brow with the back of his watery hand. "A minute longer and I would've thrown myself in the nearest holy water font," he muttered.

"Lord Beelzebub is a slave driver!" whined Abigor. "We haven't rested for days."

"Did you say 'Beelzebub'?" echoed Danny, garnering the attention of all four demons. "You don't mean . . ."

"Who's this kid?" the archdemon asked, furrowing his brow at the unfamiliar mortal.

"Bubba, this is my brother, Danny Ketch."

"You don't have a brother."

"I do now."

". . . Uh huh." Beelzebub's eyes were vacant of comprehension.

"It's a long story," Johnny repeated, then his expression softened. "How's Blackheart?"

"In shambles. You broke his heart, Johnny."

Blaze hung his head and pulled the cracked pocket watch from his jacket. "I know," he murmured. He raised his head again. "But I'm gonna try to put it back together again."

"Well that's good to hear, but right now we need to get you back to San Diablo ASAP," Beelzebub said hastily, pulling back the sleeve of his coat to glance at the stylish black wrist watch he wore. "It's already October 31st down there, and unless Dr Dementoad is greatly mistaken, Blackheart's probably going into labor right now-"

"What!?" shrieked Johnny, face ashen.

Danny turned to Carter. "What's going on?"

"Damned if I know," mumbled Slade. "And I _do_ know."

Johnny had grabbed Beelzebub by the collar and was shaking him frantically. "You've gotta get me down there! The Wolf Brothers are after him, and if they get to him they're gonna kill him and my son!"

"The who?"

"The Wolf Brothers!"

"Heaven's mercenaries," Slade drawled. He received the entire group's attention. "Johnny had a run-in with some angels a while ago and they found out about Blackheart being . . ." He shifted uncomfortably. ". . . in a delicate state."

"Oh no," whispered Beelzebub.

"They think he's tryin' to pull another Antichrist stunt so they called on some hitmen to 'take care of the problem', if ya get me."

The Lord of Flies looked completely horrified. "But they're not authorized to enter Nether-earth! That's a violation of the Truce!"

"They don't care. They're thugs. They don't play by the rules."

"Bastards. They won't make it beyond Limbo. They can't get through the gate, nobody can."

"What're you all talking about?" piped Danny, whose question was politely ignored by everyone.

"Wait a sec," interrupted Gressil with a dusty cough. "On Independence Day the borders are left open, remember? Those guys could totally get in if they wanted to."

"Judas Christ," swore Beelzebub, putting a hand to his forehead. "I can't believe we've been so stupid."

"We've gotta get down there right now!" Johnny barked, running toward his bike and jumping on. "Danny, Carter! Saddle up!"

"Ohhh NO," Slade warned, taking a step back. "I'm not goin' down there."

"Carter, I need all the help I can get!"

"Not _my_ help, you don't."

"Are we going to Hell?" asked Danny excitedly.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me to San Diablo, Johnny. Forget it. Count me out."

Danny turned to Beelzebub. "You're going to Hell?"

"Nether-earth," the archdemon corrected.

"_What_?"

"Carter, please!" Johnny begged. "Do this for me. Do it for my son. Come on. We need you."

The grizzled cowboy glanced at the demons standing around him. "Why would you bunch need an old ghost like me?"

"You're on Heaven's side," Beelzebub answered sternly. "Somebody needs to bring these 'Wolf Brothers' back to Heaven to face judgment, and none of us can do that. We're all demons." He glanced at Danny. "Except you. Who are you again?"

"FUCK IT, LET'S GO!" Johnny roared, kicking his bike into gear and bursting into flame.

"Alright, alright!" shouted Beelzebub, dropping into a crouch. "Slow down! These things need to be done properly! You can't rush them!" He pressed his palm into the pavement and closed his eyes. "_By the power of darkness infernal_," he recited in Latin, "_and by virtue of evil eternal_ . . ."

Danny turned to Carter. "What's he saying? What's going on?"

"You'll find out soon enough," the caretaker grunted.

"_ . . . Doorway through which the angels fell, grant our passage into Hell!_"

Beelzebub sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. "_Satanum ac ianuam, imbeat aperiri!_" he ended. In the name of Satan, open this Portal!

A beam of black light shot out from around the archdemon's hand and gradually began to spread, swallowing up the pavement in an unholy living darkness until a perfect circle stretched from one side of the street to the other. The blackness seemed teaming and alive, like writhing snakes or a pool of rippling black diamonds.

With a strained sigh, Beelzebub stood to his feet and turned, gesturing to the circle. "Gentlemen, be my guests."

Johnny cut loose a howl and gunned it. The moment his wheels of fire penetrated the circle, he vanished. One by one, like anxious divers, the Hidden jumped into the gateway and disappeared into the darkness.

"Aw man, that's _awesome_!" Danny gushed, starting his BMW with a kick and revving the engine. He wasn't even trying to hide his glee. Slade muttered something under his breath about damn crazy kids and mounted Banshee. A second later he was transformed into a thin white mist, but the disgruntled look on his face was still visible.

With a wild whoop, Danny let off the clutch and streaked toward the portal, vanishing as if he'd been incinerated. The two remaining beings, Beelzebub and Slade, shared a brief glance. "After you, Agent Slade," the demon said politely, arm extended.

The phantom horse reared up with a loud whinny and charged. Moments later the caretaker and his steed were on their way to Nether-earth.

Beelzebub glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight in San Diablo. "Hell," he muttered under his breath, stepping into the circle. "I hope we're not too late." And then he disappeared.

The pulsating black gateway lingered for another few seconds, and then it slowly began to shrink, growing smaller and smaller until at last it disappeared and only solid ground remained.

A cold wind blew across the road where seven otherworldly beings had once stood.

† † †

Hector the hellhound lay drowsily on the back patio, listening to the raised voices inside the house and only vaguely paying attention to the occasional servant darting in and out the door. Night had fallen and the decorative lamps in the garden had lighted themselves, casting yellow halos of light about their bases.

Hector sighed and grunted, sat up and lazily scratched behind his ear with his back foot. The tags on his spiky leather collar jingled. He was the largest of the eight infernal hounds kept by the royal family, a solid black Cane Corso who tipped the scales at over 160 pounds. As the official leader of the pack and personal favorite of the family, Hector was given the freedom to roam the Manor grounds at his leisure. He wasn't a fast runner, nor was he all that smart, but he was strong and fearsome looking, and he particularly enjoyed terrifying the human man who had come to live with his family several months ago. The man hadn't been around for a while though, and the Master hadn't played with Hector for even longer. The hellhound was beginning to feel depressed from the lack of attention, and seemed to sense that his family was going through some difficult times.

Hector's nose twitched suddenly and he paused scratching to raise his head. He smelled something . . . something new. Something different.

With a low growl rumbling deep in his throat, the large dog slowly stood to his feet and stared toward the black edge of the forest that bordered the back yard. It was so dark within the woods that individual trees could not be seen, only deep shades of black and silhouettes of leaves. Hector's growl grew to a snarl, however, as his keen eyes detected small pairs of light fading in and out within the darkness, moving and turning: the eyes of predators reflecting in the lamps' glow.

Hector launched off of the patio at full speed, his huge paws thundering across the grass and foam flying from his mouth as he bared his knife-like teeth at the unseen trespassers on his turf. Hackles raised and fur bristling, the Cane Corso burst into the woods and slammed into another canine-like body that was only a little smaller than he was.

Hector struck first, sinking his fangs into thick, rank fur. A yelp of pain pierced the air, and two snarls sounded on either side of the hellhound. This was how the fight began, in utter blackness, fighting against the invisible teeth of three enemies who pitched upon Hector from all sides. But the hound was strong and hardy, accustomed to the endurance of vicious fighting, and in the end he sent the trespassers fleeing into the depths of the woods. The whole encounter had not lasted three minutes.

Hector limped from the woods and into the dim light. He sat on the grass, sore and bleeding from the merciless jaws of three large creatures whose scents were alien to him. He whimpered and licked his wounds, and wished that his Master were here to take care of him.

The servants continued to cross the lawn and shout orders to each other, oblivious of Hector's condition. The loyal hellhound laid down on the grass and rested, his body hurting all over and the lingering odor of wolf blood strong in his nostrils.

† † †

In a clearing in the forest not far from Morningstar Manor, three shadowy figures emerged from the trees and collapsed onto the ground, their shapes shifting from beasts into men. All were clad in long coats and carried weapons, but their encounter with the savage Cane Corso had left their morale in tatters, along with pieces of their anatomy.

The red-headed man pressed his hand against the bleeding gash in his shoulder. "That fucking mutt," he cursed. "He got me good. Nnnh."

"Stop whining, Roth," said the brunette man known as Rom. He was inspecting a deep puncture wound on his leg, and the end of his coat was shredded. "At least that monster had its shots so we won't get rabies."

"I told you we shouldn't have gotten so close," Roth growled, glaring at his other brother, the one with the black hair. "Thanks for nearly getting us all killed, Rook."

"Shut your mouth," Rook muttered, nursing his own wounds. "I miscalculated that one of the hellhounds was loose. It doesn't matter — we know that our prey is not at the Manor."

"Splendid," Rom grunted. "Now we have to hunt him down."

"His scent is weak," Roth agreed. "If it rains we could lose his trail."

"Then stop complaining and get up," Rook snarled at his brothers. "The more time we waste the greater the distance Blackheart puts between us. He's on foot and he's slow, so he can't be too far ahead of us."

"But what if he uses his powers?" Roth asked, rising to his feet. "He could transport himself for miles and we'll lose his scent."

Rook strode over to his redheaded brother and poked him in the forehead. "Then we'll just have to use our brains, now won't we?"

Roth didn't dare respond.

"Dumb animals always wander off to a place of sanctuary when they're ready to have their litters," Rook explained lowly. "Blackheart is going somewhere deep into the woods where nobody will find him . . . But we will. Rom."

"Yes."

"Where did you last pick up his scent?"

"By the side of the house. I think he took that path through the trees."

"Your nose is best, so lead us on." Rook's face began to darken and grow hairy, his mouth melting into a muzzle and his yellow-green eyes becoming feral and bright. "Blackheart can run as far as he likes, but he can't outrun a Wolf."

**To Be Continued...**

"What the hell, Bender, you pathetic mortal peon! I wasn't even _in_ this chapter."

"You were on maternity leave. I couldn't get a hold of your agent."

"I don't have an agent."

"Look, the next chapter will be _all_ about you, Blackheart. I promise."

"It better be . . . And it better not have any gushy-mushy scenes either."

"I'll try my hardest."

"Good. 'Cause you're one of the worst writers I've ever met."

"Gee, thanks. You're too kind."

"In fact, when you die you're going straight to Heaven. My dad has connections."

"I've been banned from entering Heaven since 1997, Blackheart."

"Well you're not going to Hell where _I_ live. I don't want you or your stupid faggy fiction anywhere near me. Hmph. I still can't believe I'm letting you write this shit about me."

"Dude, bad publicity is still publicity. I'm trying to make you famous."

"Make me famous some other way, _dude_."

"I don't know how."

"Then think, stupid. I'll be in my trailer."

"Okay. Say hi to Johnny for me."

"Whatever."

"And give him a big fat kiss for me, too."

"Do you wanna live to write the end of this story?"

". . . Not really. It's killing me slowly and painfully."

"Alright then. Call me when you need me. I know you're worthless without me acting as your muse."

"I am. Thank you."

"Hmph."

"Stay tuned for Chapter 12, folks! Blackheart's little bundle of agony will be arriving!"

"Judas help me."


End file.
